


Salted Wounds

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Banter, Christmas, Co-workers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epistolary, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Epiphany, Gay Panic, Grief/Mourning, Letters, M/M, Matchmaker Neville, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, New Years, POC Harry Potter, Patronus Charm (Harry Potter), Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Teaching, eventual bed sharing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 32,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23133859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Eight years after the war, Draco returns to Hogwarts to teach Potions. Once there, however, he realizes that he's not the only person McGonagall has reached out to.Harry Potter is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and something's got to give.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 161
Kudos: 373
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy <3

Draco looked at his reflection in the mirror and frowned. Despite only being twenty-five, he had deep worry lines that, no matter how much he tried to relax his face, didn’t go away, and barely visible crow’s feet decorated the corners of his pale pewter eyes.

He looked the same, for the most part. His hair was still ashen blonde in color and had a medium cut to it, the bottom of it curling slightly behind his ears. Thankfully, over the past eight years, he had managed to put on all of the weight he had lost during sixth and seventh year. That, and a bit of color had returned to what had previously been his dull, alarmingly pale skin. All in all, he looked the healthiest he had in years, albeit a little older and a little more worn.

Draco took one last look at himself, straightened his emerald green robes, and walked back into his living quarters. Muted evening light streamed into the room through the white linen curtains, and Draco could hear the lyrical whistling of an owl somewhere outside his window. On the wooden desk beside his foreign, unfamiliar four-poster bed sat a stack of parchment, several quills and ink pots, the latest edition of _Advanced Potion Making_ , his wand, which Harry had returned to him a month after the Battle of Hogwarts had ended, and a leather satchel.

Sighing, Draco began to pace back and forth across his new room, the hollow sound of his footsteps clinging to the silent air.

“Alright. The feast first, and then there’s the Sorting Ceremony. McGonagall will introduce me as the new potions professor during dinner. I know the routine of tonight like the back of my hand, namely because I was a bloody student here. Merlin, I need to pull myself together,” Draco muttered to himself in a slightly out of breath panic.

After struggling to take a full breath, Draco walked towards the door, taking one last look at his new bedroom before closing it behind him.

He swept around the corner, his robes billowing out behind him, and fast-walked down the cobblestone corridor. Dancing orange light coming from the torches that lined both walls flickered across all surfaces. After wandering down the staircase that led from the Astronomy tower to the Great Hall, he let out a heavy breath. Just a few more steps.

“The students aren’t even here yet, you git. Calm down,” Draco forcibly told himself.

He continued walking, eventually making his way into the Great Hall. Only one other person was there, and she was busy flicking her wand. Draco watched the four house banners appear across the walls. The Enchanted Ceiling above held a pale navy color, silver dots echoing against the dark.

When finished with setting up the banners, McGonagall looked towards Draco, a polite smile on her face. Draco cautiously walked further into the Great Hall until he stood opposite her.

“I’m very pleased to see you, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall said.

Draco subtly looked her up and down. Her hair, which was reliably tied in a tight knot, had quite a bit more grey to it, and the lines etched into her face ran deeper than they had before.

“You too, Professor. How are things?” Draco asked.

McGonagall sighed heavily, but she showed no other signs of weariness. “Things are alright. I can say with confidence that the castle is as much restored as it’s going to be. There’s still a few dings here and there, but that’s of little importance. How are you finding your sleeping quarters?”

“It’s lovely. Thank you. Is there anything I can do to help?” Draco asked.

“Well, the students are to be arriving …” McGonagall began, checking her pocket watch, “at any moment. Why don’t you go ahead and stand by the front door to greet them as they come in?”

Draco gulped. “Wonderful. See you at the feast.”

As he turned and walked away, Draco couldn’t help but feel fretful. He stood awkwardly by the heavy oak doors, tapping his foot to fill the empty air.

Several minutes went by before he heard the not-too-distant chattering of returning students. He opened the front door and plastered a large smile on his face.

As the returning students flowed through the front doors of the castle, Draco found himself creating a calm pattern of “hello,” “welcome back,” and polite nodding. If any of the students had something against him, which he assumed was entirely plausible, they certainly didn’t show it.

Just as Draco was about to greet another student, he heard hollow footsteps coming up behind him. He turned around and was faced with a view he hadn’t expected in a million years.

There, standing before him, was Harry bloody Potter. Draco felt his jaw clench slightly, and he huffed hot air out his nose.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he crossed his arms.

“What the hell are you doing here, Potter?” Draco asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Harry said.

Draco frowned. “I’m the new potions professor, and you didn’t answer my question.”

“You’re not seriously teaching here, are you?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded suspiciously.

“Minerva hired me as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”

Draco let out a dry laugh. “Fantastic. Just my luck.”

As they stared at one another, Draco couldn’t help but feel a surge of déjà vu. Somewhere, off in another life, was little Draco Malfoy, eleven and too confident for his own good. Draco wondered if his current situation would be different had he just offered to be friends.

“Well, I suppose Minerva trusts you. I guess I do too, then,” Harry surmised.

“Thank you so much, Potter. How considerate of you,” Draco said flatly.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his heap of black curls. “Merlin, why are you so difficult?”

Draco snorted. “Look who’s talking. You’re insufferable.”

“Git.”

“Arsehole.”

“Ferret.”

“Potty.”

As lame insults flew, they both inched towards one another until they were face to face. Draco stretched his torso as much as he could, looming a good three inches over Harry .

After several moments of rude exchanges, Draco felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find a girl of about fourteen, with large brown eyes, staring up at him.

“Um, professors? Is everything okay?” the girl asked, blinking.

Draco looked at Harry, and Harry looked at him. They both took a step back. Harry cleared his throat, and Draco straightened his robes.

“Yes! Yes. Everything’s fine. Now go on to the Great Hall,” Draco said far too enthusiastically.

The girl nodded and walked away.

Draco took that as his cue. He turned towards the Great Hall, giving Harry one final glare before stalking off.

As he entered the Great Hall, which was halfway filled with young and excited students, Draco found himself distracted by how different Harry looked. Eight years ago, his unruly black hair had fallen in messy ringlets around his shoulders. It was a great contrast to what Harry's hair now looked like, as it was much shorter, with tight curls falling loosely over his forehead. The scar was still there ― _of course it was_ ― but it didn’t look as angry. The raised, white jagged lines stemmed from his right temple, jutting diagonally to his left cheekbone. From what Draco could remember, the scar had always had a tint of red to the edges. Harry's skin looked better, too. He wasn’t nearly as scrawny as he had once been, and the tawny color had returned to what had been his dull, sunken complexion.

There was something different about his eyes, too. They were brighter.

Draco willed his mind to clear as he approached the long table that held all of the professors. He took a seat at the far left end, leaving a chair between himself and … Neville?

“Malfoy?” Neville turned to him, his round cheeks a bright red.

“Uh, hello,” Draco said stiffly.

“What are you doing here?” Neville asked, raising an eyebrow.

“New potions professor. You?” Draco asked.

“I became the herbology professor right after the war.”

“Ah.”

“Neville!”

Draco turned around at the grating sound of Harry's voice. Neville stood up from his seat, embracing Harry in a tight hug. After greeting each other, Neville sat back down in his seat. Draco watched as Harry realized that he was to be sitting in between Neville and himself. As Harry sat down, busying himself in conversation with Neville, Draco rubbed his temples and rolled his eyes.

After several minutes of pondering why Merlin chose for him to suffer, McGonagall walked to the podium in front of the professors’ table.

Clearing her throat, she said, “hello, everyone. To all returning students, welcome back. And to our first years, welcome home.”


	2. Tea and Favoritism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Wow, I certainly didn't expect the first chapter to be so well received. Thank you to everyone who has subscribed and left kudos! It's much appreciated <3
> 
> Also, yes, I am making Neville the matchmaker. Fight me.

The following morning, Draco woke up with a pounding headache. As his bleary eyes adjusted to the soft pink and orange light coming through the curtains, he groaned. It wasn’t the idea of getting up that annoyed him ― in fact, he was a morning person ― but instead the fact that he, an individual who could barely keep himself together, was to be teaching children. It was a terrifying thought.

Draco clumsily reached for his pocket watch that rested on the nightstand, watching the silver dragon laying on the first hand slither to seven. The second hand, which twitched to twelve, burst into dark green flames, signalling the beginning of a new hour.

“Merlin, I need tea,” Draco mumbled to himself as he staggered out of bed, walking gracelessly to the bathroom that was attached to his sleeping quarters.

After flicking on the blinding light with his wand, Draco stared disappointingly at his reflection in the broad mirror. The right half of his hair was smushed into a slant, and the thin skin under his eyes were beaten with fatigue. He wiped dried drool from the corner of his mouth and proceeded to the toilet. After a moment of standing over the toilet, his eyes half-closed, he couldn’t seem to recall if he’d relieved his bladder or not. Draco sighed, pulling his flannel pajama bottoms back up around his waist.

After washing his hands with foamy orange blossom soap that he’d brought from home, he left the bathroom and stared at his trunk, which was resting at the bottom of his four-poster bed. 

The trunk stared back.

“Right, Draco. Pick something to wear. It’s not that hard,” Draco mumbled, rifling through the trunk. 

Eventually, he came across his favorite white button-down shirt and a pair of fitting, navy blue trousers. As he pulled on his boxers, he lost balance, nearly taking a tumble to the ground. Instead, he hopped on his right foot for dear life until he gained his balance back.

After recovering from the trauma of putting on his clothes, Draco lumbered back to the bathroom, smoothing out the lopsidedness of his hair. Once content with how he looked, he pulled on his deep crimson robes and black oxfords.

Then, it was on to packing his satchel. Draco hastily stuffed the parchment, quills, ink pots, and copy of the potions textbook that he had laid out the previous evening into his bag. As soon as that was done, he walked towards the door.

After one final look to make sure he had everything, Draco closed and locked the door behind him.

The walk to the Great Hall was quiet, as it was only 7:25. Back in Draco's day, the majority of the students hadn’t arrived at breakfast until at least eight o’clock, only leaving them thirty minutes before the end of breakfast. Draco had always made a habit of being one of the first ones to the Great Hall, as it had been the only way to get in a cup of tea in solitude.

Draco had been correct in assuming that most would be arriving later, as he was the first one there. He helped himself to two fried eggs, a piece of toast, and a large cup of tea with one sugar cube and a dash of milk. He instinctively walked over to the Slytherin table before remembering that was no longer his place, lumbering back to the long professors’ table at the top of the Great Hall, picking a seat at the very end.

In a stupor, Draco sipped his tea and stared vacantly at the open double doors at the opposite end of the Great Hall. As soon as he heard footsteps approaching in the corridor, he instinctively whipped his head down.

It wasn’t until the person was halfway up the length of the hall that Draco flicked his eyes upwards from his tea. As soon as he saw who it was, he let out an inaudible groan. There was Harry, walking in between the middle aisle of the tables in well-fitted plaid chinos, a pale blue button-down shirt, and royal purple robes.

Draco stared only long enough to take in the sight of Harry, immediately flicking his eyes away. He listened to the sound of Harry getting closer to the table, eventually pulling out a chair several seats away from where he sat.

Neither of them acknowledged each other, both picking silently at their breakfasts. It wasn’t until some of the younger students came straggling in that Draco talked, bidding them each a good morning as they sat at their respective tables. When Harry did the same, Draco made the mistake of looking at him. Their eyes locked for only a moment, but it was already far too much. Draco broke the stare, silently willing more people to come through the doors. Eventually they did just that, both professors and students alike slowly trickling into the Great Hall. Idle chatter echoed off the walls, putting Draco at ease.

At the name of Harry's name being called, Draco whipped up his head to find Neville greeting him.

“Morning, Malfoy,” Neville said casually as he chose the seat to the left of Harry, meaning he was the closest to Draco.

Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Um, morning.”

Neville offered him a polite smile before turning to Harry. “So, Harry, nervous about today?”

Draco ate his breakfast noiselessly, intent on listening to their conversation.

Harry let out a dry laugh. “Merlin, I feel like I’m about to be sick. Didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, either.”

“I felt the same way, don’t worry. The feeling goes away after a week or so. Anyway, what classes do you have today?” Neville inquired.

"Let me see. I’ve got the schedule somewhere …” Harry trailed off, rooting through his satchel before pulling out a piece of crumpled parchment. “Uh, I’ve got third year Ravenclaws and Slytherins first. Next are first year Gryffindors and Slytherins. And, after lunch will be sixth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and second year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.”

“Oh, that’s a nice schedule. I’ve got seventh year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws first thing. A word of the wise, I’ve found Ravenclaw students to be the grumpiest in the morning. Beware,” Neville joked, taking a gulp of orange juice.

“Oh, great,” Harry deadpanned, spooning corn flakes into his mouth.

“Hey, Malfoy. What’s your first class?” Neville asked, turning to Draco. 

He jumped at the sound of his name, sending his fork flying off his plate. He quickly scrambled to pick it up.

“I’m teaching fourth year Slytherins and Gryffindors first,” Draco stated.

Harry snorted under his breath and murmured, “good luck with that.”

Draco scowled, saying in a provoking tone, "sorry, Potty, do you mind repeating that?”

“Oh, I was just saying good luck, since you’ll be needing it. Wouldn’t want you to be caught showing favoritism to a particular house,” Harry said nonchalantly.

Draco scooted his chair back and stood up, and Harry did the same. He walked over to Harry, pointing a bony finger into his chest.

“How dare you insinuate that I show favoritism,” Draco sneered, glaring into Harry's eyes.

“I wasn't insinuating anything, just pointing out the obvious,” Harry replied, scowling.

“Lads, simmer down!” Neville said, gently pulling the two of them away from one another. 

Draco looked around, realizing that, thankfully, no one had seen their little debacle. He really had no desire to embarrass himself in front of his students. That, and getting yelled at by McGonagall was never a pleasant experience.

“Whatever, Potter,” Draco murmured, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. 

Without looking back, Draco stormed through the double doors and into the corridor.

He was halfway to his classroom in the dungeons before realizing that he had never finished his cup of tea.


	3. Neville's Proposition

Draco wandered around his classroom, weaving through the rows of lab tables that were filled with bubbling cauldrons. Idle chatter filled the dark room, the only light coming from yellow ceiling lamps.

He was surprised at how much he was enjoying teaching ― not that he didn’t think he would, but he assumed it would take a while to get into the groove of it. But, although this was only his first class, he could feel that this was where he was meant to be. However, his mind kept echoing with Harry’s words, and he found himself paying more attention to who he was praising than he should have.

Draco spotted a girl in the back left corner, and he slowly made his way towards her. The smoke curling up from her cauldron twisted in gentle wisps, and the open flame that licked the underside of the cauldron was at the perfect strength. Draco peered into the cauldron, and, sure, enough, the silky liquid of the wit-sharpening potion was the precise shade of purple that it needed to be. The girl didn’t stop when Draco had neared, keeping her eyes trained on the task at hand.

“What’s your name?” Draco asked the girl. She blinked at him with dark brown eyes, and her hair was frizzing from the humidity in the room. Draco hated to admit it, but she reminded him of a young and ambitious Hermione: large hair, brown eyes, and umber skin that glowed under the lights of the dungeon.

That, and the Gryffindor tie hanging nearly around her neck.

“Jenny Walker.”

“Well, Ms. Walker, you’re doing an excellent job. Keep up the good work,” Draco said, offering her a small smile.

She returned it, and he walked off feeling satisfied in his ability to not show favoritism towards the Slytherin students.

The morning progressed at both a quick and slow pace, warping Draco’s sense of time. His second class of the day, first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, got off to a much rockier start, as he had to explicitly explain how to properly clean, prep, and care for their cauldrons, as well as how to go about using an open flame carefully. One child by the name of Jim Harrison somehow managed to light the sleeve of his robe on fire, causing a grey haze to linger in the air for the remainder of the class.

“Alright! By next class, I would like you to have a brief description that documents the correct way to prep your cauldron and work area, as well as what the three steps are for ensuring the safety of your open flame. I’m looking at you, Mr. Harrison,” Draco scolded, but there was laughter in his eyes.

Everyone in the class, including Jim Harrison, giggled.

“Now get out of here, the lot of you. I’ll see you on Wednesday. And no running to lunch!” Draco hollered after his students, who were quickly scurrying out of the classroom as fast as they could.

He sighed and shook his head in amusement as the classroom emptied, gathering all of his belongings together and then stuffing them in his satchel. After double checking that he had everything, he wandered out of his classroom and in the direction of the kitchen, having decided to grab some food and take it back to his classroom to eat in peace.

Reaching the corridor with the large painting of a fruit bowl, Draco tickled the pear. He had never ventured as far as the kitchens when he was a student, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a go.

The painting swung forward, revealing a large wooden door. Draco pushed it open, entering a spacious room with a stretching ceiling and stone walls. On the far end of the room was a wide fireplace that burned hot and bright.

“Hello?” Draco asked hesitantly.

A house elf appeared with a pop in front of him, causing his heart to leap into his throat. The house elf donned a ragged beige sack on her quivering body, and her large eyes were a deep green.

“Oh. Hello,” Draco said, putting as much warmth into his voice as he could.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. What can Abby get you?” the house elf squeaked.

“Just Draco, please. It’s very nice to meet you, Abby. What are the students having for lunch?” he asked.

“Oh, sir! How kind you are. Abby and her friends made chicken curry and rice,” Abby explained.

“Ah. Lovely. If I could please have that?” Draco requested.

“Of course, Mr. Draco, sir!” Abby said.

She popped off somewhere to put his lunch together, returning only moments later with a plate heaped with rice and curry, and it smelled heavenly.

“Thank you so much, Abby,” Draco said, taking the plate. “I hope you have a wonderful day.”

Abby squeaked in delight. “Goodbye, Mr. Draco!”

Draco, plate in hand, wandered back down to the dungeons, turning into his classroom that sat on the left of the corridor. He took off his satchel and set it next to the desk as he settled into his chair.

He was about halfway through his lunch when he heard the heavy echo of footsteps coming down the corridor. He paused, fork midair, and waited to see who was wandering the halls.

Neville, of all people, knocked on the open classroom door before stepping inside. His robe, which hugged his protruding hips, was covered in dirt.

“Hiya. Mind if I come in for a minute?” Neville asked.

Draco wrinkled the space between his eyebrows. “Sure.”

Neville took a chair from one of the lab tables and dragged it to the opposite side of Draco’s desk.

“What can I help you with?” Draco asked awkwardly.

“Oh, nothing. I just came by to see how your first classes went,” Neville shrugged.

“Oh. Well, they went pretty well. Teaching the first years was a bit of a mess, though. One of my students lit his robe on fire,” Draco explained, letting out a small chuckle.

“Merlin, you’ve had an exciting morning. Are you settling in alright?” Neville asked.

Draco nodded. “I am, thank you. How were your classes?”

“They were great. I really love teaching. It fills me with so much joy. It’s odd to think that I’ve been teaching the seventh years since they were eleven,” Neville said.

“I bet.”

Neville cleared his throat. “Well, Harry and I are thinking of starting a duelling club. If I recall correctly, you’re quite skilled in defensive spells.”

“Oh, um, I suppose I’m alright with them, and the duelling club sounds like a great idea,” Draco said.

“What I’m trying to get at, Malfoy, is that we really should have one more professor help out with the club. I think you’d be a great fit,” Neville said.

Draco gave a dry laugh. “Me? Have you run this idea of yours past Potter? He’d never let that happen.”

Neville sighed. “Listen, I know Harry can be hard headed ― trust me, I know. He won’t like the idea at first, but I think I can get him to warm up to it.”

“I don’t know, Longbottom.”

“Think about all of the kids you would get to teach, Malfoy. It would be such a fun and enriching thing to be a part of, and we could really use you,” Neville pleaded.

Draco huffed. “Fine, fine. I’ll help out with it. But, I swear on Merlin’s grave, if Potter tries to kill me―”

Neville's loud laugh interrupted his train of thought. “I won’t let Harry kill you, I promise. And that goes both ways. You’re not permitted to kill him, either.”

“Well, alright.”

Neville stood up and started wandering towards the door. “Well, see you later then.”

He was nearly out the door when Draco found himself yelling, “wait!”

Neville turned around, and Draco stood up from his chair.

He sighed. “Why are you being so nice to me? I made your years at Hogwarts hell.”

Neville shrugged. “There’s always room to forgive, and I don’t think you’re the same person you were. You wouldn’t be here if that was the case.”

Draco paused before saying, “well, thank you.”

“No problem. Meet us in the DADA classroom after dinner. We’re going to sort things out then,” Neville said.

“See you then.”

“Bye.”

Draco suddenly found himself alone in his classroom, wondering what the hell he had just gotten himself into.


	4. The Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I 100% forgot that the duelling club at Hogwarts was a thing so I'm casually pretending that it doesn't already exist  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Draco slowly pushed the heavy oak door open, poking his head into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He didn’t see anyone, so he slipped inside and breathed several lanterns that were levitating around the room to life with the flick of his wand. Dark orange shadows licked the walls, the flames from the lanterns glowing against the blackness of the world outside the large windows.

He seated himself on the corner of Harry's desk at the front of the classroom, looking out at the night sky. One of the windows was cracked, letting in the sweet smell of the damp earth into the musty room. He could hear that the owlery was alive and well, soft chirps filling the cool air.

Draco swallowed thickly, whispering to himself, “it’s okay. It’s alright if Potter’s mad. It doesn’t matter what that git thinks, anyway. You’re here to do something for your students and yourself. This isn’t about Potter.”

Ten minutes passed before anything happened, Draco waiting impatiently in the dimly lit classroom. He was finally able to make out the sound of heavy footsteps reverberating down the corridor. Harry pushed open the door, busy in conversation with Neville, and Draco flinched. He could see the very second in which Harry spotted him, the light in his eyes fading from warm to cool.

“Malfoy, why the fuck is your arse on my desk?” Harry asked sharply, crossing his arms as he strode into the classroom.

Draco shrugged. "Why not?”

Harry frowned. “Listen Malfoy, Neville and I don’t have time to mess around. We’ve got a lot of work to get through tonight, so I’m going to kindly ask you to leave.”

“Uh, about that, Harry,” Neville chimed in, his cheeks going red, “I actually invited Malfoy here.”

“... Come again?” Harry asked, confusion spreading across his face.

“Sit down, Harry. You too, Malfoy,” Neville instructed, pacing back and forth.

Draco sat in a desk in the front row, as did Harry.

“Neville, will you please tell me what’s going on and why the bloody hell Malfoy is here?” Harry asked, running a hand nervously through his hair.

Draco snorted, and Harry shot him daggers.

“So, Harry, I asked Malfoy during lunch if he’d be willing to help us run the duelling club,” Neville said with a surprising amount of confidence.

Harry looked from Neville to Draco and back again. “No, absolutely not. No way.”

“Listen, Harry, I understand why you don’t want him here. I really do. But, I think it’s time we put our pasts behind us and move forward together as professors instead of childhood enemies,” Neville said, replacing his pacing with a rigid stationary stance, crossing his arms.

“He―” Harry stood up, pointing a finger at Draco, “―is a bully and a bigot, and I don’t want my students near him!”

Draco scowled, also standing. “You know what, scarface? You’re not all that great, either. Need I remind you that you have the most preposterous hero complex that I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing?”

“Fuck you, Malfoy―” Harry began, but Neville butted in.

“Harry, Malfoy, please sit down. _Sit down_. Thank you,” Neville said, sighing as Draco and Harry sank back into their seats. “Now, like I said, I think we should all move on, namely because we’re fucking adults who should know better than to fight over things that aren’t relevant anymore. This duelling club that we want to get up and running is a perfect opportunity for you two to get past whatever the bloody hell this is. Look, you’re both exceptional wizards. All I’m asking for is a little forgiveness so that we can do something great for our students.”

“Well I, for one, would be more than happy to forgive Potty,” Draco shrugged, tossing a smirk Harry's way.

“Merlin, fine! _Fine_. You can stay, Malfoy,” Harry sighed reluctantly.

“Thanks, Potter,” Draco deadpanned.

“Alright, lads. Let’s start thinking about the club, yeah? What is it exactly that we want to do?” Neville asked, taking a seat at a desk in between Draco and Harry.

“Well, I imagine this is going to be a place where kids that are interested in both duelling and Defense Against the Dark Arts will be able to perfect and hone their skills with other like-minded students,” Draco said.

“That’s how I’ve envisioned it to be. I’d really like to let the students go beyond what I’ll be teaching them in DADA, and I’d love to see them experiment and be curious about different spells and techniques. Kind of like what we did in Dumbledore’s Army,” Harry added, and Draco shrunk awkwardly in his seat.

“Great. We’re all on the same page, then. Now, do we want there to be any age limit to the club, or do we want this to be open to all students?” Neville asked.

“Why don’t we have it be open to students of all ages, but they only practice in groups of students their own age?” Harry suggested.

“And if we did that, we could do something like having one day a month dedicated to sharing and performing what spells and duelling techniques each age group has learned. For example, if the second years learn a more in depth way to perform the full body-bind curse, they would demonstrate it in front of all of the other years in the club,” Draco said, his eyes lighting up.

“That’s a really great idea, actually,” Harry said, looking Draco straight in the eye.

“See, Potty? I’m not all bad.”


	5. Grading and Gobstones

The following Monday evening found Draco in his office, pouring over his fifth year students’ essays on the properties of moonstone, amber light emitting from the candlestick sitting on his large oak desk. The night was quiet, as dinner had come and gone, and most everyone was in their common rooms. If Draco listened very closely, he could make out the barely audible sounds of laughter coming from the Slytherin common room, creating a warmth that could be felt in his chest.

Draco knew that Slytherin had been hit hard with bullying and harassment the years following the battle. It was no secret. In fact, it had frequently been a topic of discussion in _The Daily Prophet_ , although their argument was that the Slytherin kids deserved it. That was when Draco had decided that if he ever had the opportunity, he would teach at Hogwarts. He’d fully admitted that there were faults found among the idea of Pureblood wizardry and the focus on blood status, but that didn’t pertain to the entirety of Slytherin. The aftermath of the war had resulted in both children and adults alike believing that those sorted into Slytherin were deserving of a one-way ticket to Azkaban, but that simply wasn’t the case. Being Slytherin meant possessing the instincts to be both cunning and ambitious, and that was it. There had been bad wizards all across the houses, but no one seemed to acknowledge that ― only Slytherin ― and Draco was determined to change that.

Just as he finished grading Nisha Punj’s essay, he heard a soft knock on the door. When he looked up, he saw Felix Thomas, a third year Slytherin, lingering at the doorway. His dark brown eyes glowed bright with excitement, and he had a large smile plastered across his face.

“Hello, Mr. Thomas. What can I do for you?” Draco asked, setting down his quill.

“Uh, hi, Professor Malfoy. We ― well, my friends and I ― were wondering if you’d like to referee a Gobstones tournament that we’re holding tomorrow night,” Felix asked shyly, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“It would be my honor, Mr. Thomas. I presume it’s going to be in the Slytherin common room?” Draco asked.

“Yeah. After dinner.”

“Excellent. And Mr. Thomas, before you leave, I’d like you to know that I very much enjoyed your essay on dragonfly thorax, and it was a pleasure to read,” Draco said, smiling.

“Oh, thanks! Well, see you tomorrow,” Felix said.

As the boy ran out the door, Draco shook his head in amusement. His heart swelled with happiness at the knowledge that his Slytherin students wanted him, of all people, to judge their Gobstones tournament. He would have easily done it for any of his students, no matter what house, but it was all the more special that Felix and his friends were in Slytherin. It relieved him to know that his Slytherin students were still finding ways to have fun.

After another two-and-a-half hours of grading papers, Draco finally decided that it was time to drag himself to bed. He yawned, stretching back in his chair before standing up. Gathering everything up in his satchel, he blew out the candle and locked the office door. He wound his way through the quiet corridor and up several long flights of stairs, eventually reaching his living quarters, which sat near the top landing of the Astronomy Tower.

As he unlocked his door, pushing it open, he found himself nearly stepping on a piece of folded parchment on the ground right inside the doorway. After setting his satchel down on his bed, he picked up the note and unfolded it, immediately recognizing Harry's jagged chicken scratch.

_Malfoy,_

_Meet us at the greenhouses tomorrow during lunch. We have lots to discuss._

_Potter_

_P.S. The only reason why I wrote the note was because Neville made me._

Draco rolled his eyes, placing the note on his desk.

“ _Accio_ pajamas!” Draco said, pointing his wand at the open trunk that sat at the foot of his bed.

A pair of matching flannel pajamas flew out, landing softly into Draco’s arms. Setting the pajamas on the bed, he began to get undressed. He neatly folded the navy blue robe he had been wearing into the trunk, followed by his button-down shirt and trousers. After changing into his pajamas, he headed towards the bathroom.

Just as he was about to brush his teeth, Draco felt the urge to stare at his reflection in the mirror. He looked exhausted, his under-eyes puffy and grey. He frowned, supposing that perhaps teaching was taking more out of him than he thought. However, for the first time in quite a while, he found himself looking happy. There was a sort of peace that he found in his reflection, validating what Draco knew to be true. He was right where he was meant to be, teaching new generations of students to come.

After feeling content in his analysis, Draco brushed his teeth, emptied his bladder, and climbed into his four-poster bed. He flicked off the light, the darkness of the night surrounding him.

He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, as he still wasn’t used to the mattress. His mattress at home had been much softer, whereas this one had a great more structure to it. Finally, he collapsed onto his back, giving up on finding a comfortable position.

Draco listened to the soft rustles of the wind racing through the trees in the Forbidden Forest, and insects chirped in the distance. Owls hooted to one another, deeply engrossed in conversation. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sounds of Hogwarts at night. However, as he did so, he found his mind turning to the thought of Harry.

Bloody Harry and his bloody entitlement. Draco scowled at nothing in particular, seething over the thought of working with Harry on something that was already so important to him. At this, he did remind himself that working so closely to Harry meant more chances to annoy the hell out of him.

He smiled, soon drifting off into a dreamless sleep.


	6. A Meeting in the Greenhouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* I really do love these fuckers

After a long morning of lectures and the supervising of maniacal first years that were brewing the cure for boils, Draco slowly made his way to the greenhouses, making sure to stop and say hello to all of his students, wishing them a happy lunch or reminding them about an essay due the following day.

As he pushed open the great, looming front doors that led outside, Draco took a deep breath of air, burning his lungs with the smell of freshly cut grass and rich, dark soil. A fine bank of fog licked the ground, leaving small collections of dew drops scattered around.

The greenhouses sat in front of him, silver light filtering in through their thin glass walls. He could see the shrouded silhouettes of two men, echoing voices coming from their direction. Assuming it was Harry and Neville, Draco crept along the exterior of a side wall, making sure that a rack of Mandrakes in the greenhouse were covering him.

“Where the bloody fuck is he?” Harry huffed.

“Harry, calm down. He’s two minutes late,” Neville sighed wearily.

Draco could make out the hollow sounds of Harry pacing against the wet cement. 

“This is a bad idea. Terrible, really. We could always tell him to leave if he shows up.”

“When he shows up,” Neville corrected him. “And no, we are not kicking Malfoy out. Merlin, Harry!”

Harry sighed. “I just feel like he’s up to something.”

“Please, not this again. Harry, what if all Malfoy is up to is moving on and becoming a better person?” Neville sighed.

Draco silently nodded in approval, pleased that he’d made somewhat of an ally out of Neville.

“I don’t know, Nev. I mean, he’s Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake. I just can’t relax around him, and whenever I see his stupid bloody face I just want to―”

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Draco interrupted, walking coolly into the greenhouse. 

Both Harry and Neville turned towards him, startled.

Neville recovered far faster than Harry, greeting him with a smile. “So glad you could make it, Malfoy. Pull up a stool, will you? You too, Harry.”

Draco did what he was told, dragging a tall, heavy stool away from a nearby row of Snargaluffs. He promptly perched himself on top of it, smoothing out a few wrinkles in his black robe as Harry and Neville retrieved stools, situating themselves.

“Alright. We need to plan the first meeting,” Harry stated, pointedly avoiding Draco’s eye contact.

“What a novel idea, Potter,” Draco said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

“Piss off. Nev, what day do you suggest?” Harry asked, absently rubbing the hint of stubble on his chin.

Neville hesitated before saying, “well, what do you guys think of holding it twice a week?”

“I think I prefer that idea, to be perfectly honest,” Draco said, excitement about the club beginning to thrum in his jittery veins. “We could do Tuesday and Thursday nights.”

“Yeah. Alright. Tuesday and Thursday nights. What time?” Harry inquired, quirking an eyebrow.

“I think from seven to eight will probably work the best. Oh, and what about weekends? When do we want the one day a month dedicated to the students showing what they’ve learned to be?” Neville asked.

Draco screwed his face up in thought. “What about the first Saturday of every month? It could run from ten to twelve, which would still leave time for the kids to go to Hogsmeade.”

“I agree with that,” Harry chimed in.

“Excellent. See? I knew you’d warm up to me, Scarface,” Draco said, smirking as Harry glowered. “Now, how the hell do we come up with the lesson plans?”

“Right. I think we should divide and conquer. Each of us could pick two years to design lesson plans for, and then we could all work on the seventh years together, given that they’re going to be learning and performing much more complex spells and skills,” Neville said.

Draco nodded. “Great idea. Do either of you have a preference for which years you're going to plan?"

“I’d like to take fourth and fifth, if that’s alright,” Harry said, pushing up his glasses.

“Fine by me. Malfoy?” Neville prompted.

“I’ll take first and third years,” Draco decided, eager and pleased with his choices.

“Perfect. I’ll make the lesson plans for second and sixth years, then. I assume we’re going to be teaching the age groups that we’re designing the lesson plans for?” Neville asked.

“Yeah, that’d be good. Since the seventh years won’t need as much guidance, we can switch off supervising them whenever we get a chance,” Draco suggested.

“Sounds good. Should we schedule the first club meeting for next Tuesday?” Harry asked.

“Sure. It can be an introductory meeting of sorts, and we can go over what types of things they’ll be learning, as well as how the club is going to be organized. I think we should make an announcement tomorrow so that the kids have plenty of time to decide if they want to join or not,” Draco said.

Harry swallowed thickly. “Okay. I’ll tell all of my classes about it.”

“Same here.”

“Works for me.”

“Alright. So, meeting adjourned, then?” Harry asked, standing up from the stool.

“Yep. One last question, though. Would it be a good idea to run our lesson plans by one another?” Neville asked.

“Probably. I’m free whenever to go over the lesson plans,” Draco said, lugging his stool back to the row of Snargaluffs.

“Alright. Well, I’m going to go get lunch. See you guys later,” Neville said with a swift wave, trudging heavily out of the greenhouse.

Draco and Harry stood awkwardly next to one another, not sure whether to leave or not. It was Harry who broke the silence.

“You're in this for the right reasons, aren't you?” Harry asked softly, looking at the ground.

Draco recoiled, frowning. “Merlin, yes. I took this job for a reason, Potter. I care about the students, and I want to see them thrive.”

Finally, Harry looked up, his deep green eyes weary. “Alright. I believe you, but don’t mistake this for friendliness. I still hate you.”

Draco snorted. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Potter.”


	7. An Attempt in Lesson Planning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're dumb but I love them

Draco looked out into the sea of chattering fourth year Gryffindors and Slytherins, biting his lip in nervous anticipation as he watched his first class of the morning settle into their seats. He checked the watch sitting on his slender left wrist, the hour hand striking nine, and cleared his throat.

“Good morning, class, and happy Wednesday. I have a special announcement to make before we begin our lesson for today,” Draco began, pacing in front of his desk. “So, Professor Longbottom, Professor Potter, and I are beginning a duelling club that will meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays from seven to eight. There will also be a meeting held on the first Saturday of every month, but it’ll be in the morning so that it doesn’t conflict with any visits to Hogsmeade. This club is for those of you who are interested in defensive spells and the different ways in which they work. We will be going above and beyond what Professor Potter will be teaching you in your mandatory DADA classes. If you decide to join, you will be taught along with students in your own year, and on the Saturday meetings, you will perform what you’ve learned over the course of the past month. Our first meeting is going to be held next Tuesday. We’re still working out where the permanent meeting place of the club will be, but, for now, we’re going to meet in the DADA classroom. Does anyone have any questions?”

Jenny Walker, the young girl that reminded Draco of Hermione, shot her hand into the air. “Excuse me, Sir, but how are all of the seventh years going to be taught at once if there’s only three of you?”

“Ah. You raise an excellent point. Well, the three of us have taken the liberty of divvying up the lesson plans. During each meeting, I will be teaching the first and third years, Professor Potter will be teaching the fourth and fifth years, and Professor Longbottom will be teaching the second and sixth years. As for the seventh years, we will alternate teaching them, as they won’t have as much dependence on us,” Draco said.

After asking if there were any more questions, Draco began his lesson. As he wandered about the classroom, supervising the preparing of a scarab beetle, he was able to hear little snippets of excited whispers, many of his students’ faces alight with anticipation. He found a warmth settling into his chest, the feeling of accomplishment swelling in his veins. This feeling carried on throughout the day, feeling a rush from the sheer look of enthusiasm that spread across his classroom each time he made the announcement that there was to be a duelling club.

In a desperate attempt to not forgo the feeling of happiness, Draco decided to skip dinner, opting instead for a quick trip to the kitchen. After Abby, the house elf, supplied him with a chicken sandwich and a small jug of pumpkin juice, he walked as quickly as he could to the empty Quidditch pitch.

Draco found a seat in the very top row, the stands rising well into the horizon of mist that curled about the grounds. The sky had turned a brilliant sherbert color, the light refracting off of the three gold posts at each end of the pitch. The air felt damp and cool against his skin, and he breathed deeply, taking in the lightness of the wind.

He could hear loud laughter coming from the direction of the Great Hall as he opened his satchel, smiling to himself. Pulling out a piece of parchment paper, his favorite quill, and an inkpot, he couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t felt this happy about anything in quite a while, years, perhaps. He had spent so many years trying to run from Hogwarts and everything it stood for, and yet he was meant to return all along. The castle had, in actuality, always been his home. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it as a child.

Draco absently stretched the rolled up piece of parchment over his lap, bracing it against the hard surface of a textbook for a makeshift desk. In the middle of the top portion, he wrote in neat, thin letters _First Years Lesson Plan_. Then, below that, he quickly sketched the outline of a calendar for the month of September.

Just as he had begun to write _Green Sparks_ in the box for Tuesday’s lesson, he heard the wooden stands groaning. His head shot up, only to find Harry slowly climbing up the stairs. Draco raised an eyebrow, watching him eventually reach the row that he was seated in.

“Mind if I sit there?” Harry asked, pointing to the seat next to Draco.

“That depends if this is one of your attempts to figure out my ulterior motive. If so, you’re really doing a poor job, Potter. I’d recommend being much more discreet,” Draco said dryly, turning back to his lesson plan.

Harry sat down with a sigh. “I told you yesterday. I believe you’re here with good intentions.”

“Well, you’ve certainly got a funny way of showing it,” Draco frowned.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

Draco huffed, setting his quill down. “Look, Potter, dinner is still going on, meaning that you were specifically out combing the grounds for me.”

Harry shrugged. “I just noticed you weren’t there and―”

“Whatever, Potter. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to planning for the first years,” Draco said hotly.

He had expected Harry to move, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed, intently watching Draco jot down notes about the usage of green sparks and why they were important for every young wizard to know.

“So, you’re planning on teaching the first years green sparks?” Harry asked curiously, peering over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Draco huffed in annoyance, “do you have a problem with that?”

“Well, it’s just that I’ll be teaching them how to produce green sparks within the next coming week or so, and I don’t think that they’ll really need any sort of additional in-depth lessons on it. I mean, they’re just shooting sparks out of the end of their wands, for Merlin’s sake,” Harry frowned.

Draco shot up, hastily shovelling the parchment, that was still wet with ink, into his satchel. He then picked up the inkpot and quill, stuffing them in his bag as he walked from his seat to where the stairs that led down to the pitch were.

“Sorry, Potter. Didn’t realize I was coming to your show,” Draco said, shaking his head with a dry laugh. “I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think that we were all going to actually have an equal say in what happens. Tell Longbottom I’m out. I quit.”

Before Harry had the chance to say anything, Draco ran down the creaking wooden stairs, landing on the quidditch pitch with shallow, quickly paced breaths. As he headed towards the castle, the sun sank into the earth.


	8. An Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hereby not responsible for their absolute idiocy and fuckery

“What the hell do you mean you’re quitting?”

Draco looked up from the essay he was grading to find a fuming Neville standing in front of him, his arms folded over his large stomach. He calmly set his quill down with a sigh.

“I didn’t appreciate that Potter was scrutinizing my lesson plan, so I quit,” Draco said, his lips disappearing into a thin line.

“Malfoy, you’re not seriously telling me that you’re quitting over the fact that Harry didn’t like your lesson plan?” Neville asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“Merlin’s balls,” Neville muttered, beginning to pace. “I thought you wanted to make a difference. Where’d that go, huh? You’re abandoning a promise you made to the students.”

Draco blanched. “It’s for the best. You and Potter are perfectly capable of running the club yourselves.”

Neville huffed. “You idiot. Can’t you see how much we need you and your ideas? That, and the kids absolutely adore you. My students always go on about you when they’ve just come from one of your classes. I don’t think you realize how important you’ve already become to this school.”

“That’s ridiculous, Longbottom,” Draco frowned, scrawling an A+ across the top of Elias Jackson’s essay.

“I swear, you’re just as stubborn as Harry. Whatever, Malfoy. I’ll leave you to it, then,” Neville sighed, walking out of Draco’s office before he could say anything.

Several hours passed without any disturbance; Draco managed to get through a large portion of the essays in need of grading. Just as he began to pack up for the evening, he heard the soft sound of knocking against his door. Looking up, he found Harry lingering at the doorway.

“What do you want, Potter?” Draco snapped, avoiding his eyes.

Harry let out a long breath, running a hand through his corkscrew hair. “Will you take a walk with me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Harry blushed slightly. “A walk. Will you take a walk with me?”

Draco grimaced. “Why?”

“So I can apologize to you, you git.”

“Oh.”

Draco worlessly finished packing his satchel and then wandered out of his office, Harry following him. The torches that lined the dungeon corridor burned amber against Harry's tawny colored skin, catching on the jagged white lines of the scar that spread diagonally across the top half of his face.

“So, where are we going on this supposed walk?” Draco asked, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“How does the Great Lake sound?”

“Fine.”

They wandered their way up the stairs and out the front doors. The sky was a light pink that faded into a soft yellow on the horizon. The air was cool, and it smelled like crisp autumn leaves. A gentle wind rolled over the grounds, rustling the leaves of the trees that lined the Forbidden Forest. Eventually, they made it to the shore of the Great Lake. Harry made himself comfortable, laying his robe on the ground before sitting on it. Draco skeptically raised an eyebrow, but he did the same.

Harry sighed, looking straight ahead at the glassy water. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be overbearing.”

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. “I should’ve expected it.”

“I know it’s something I need to work on, but you’re not completely innocent either. If we’re going to run this club together, you need to be able to communicate if something is wrong without storming off,” Harry explained.

Draco let out a dry laugh. “Who said I’m coming back to the club?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking directly at him. “Despite everything between us, I know you, Malfoy. I know how much you care about your students, and although I hate to admit it, it seems like you’re actually a somewhat competent professor. You won’t feel complete without this club.”

Harry's words struck a nerve, sending a wave of nausea down his throat and into his stomach. He knew he wanted to return, and yet his reservations about Harry continued to prod the back of his mind.

“What if I do return? Will you leave me and my lesson plans bloody well alone?” Draco asked in all seriousness.

Harry let out a bark of laughter. “Yes, Malfoy. I’ll leave you and your lesson plans alone.”

Draco hesitantly met his eyes. “Fine. I’ll return.”

“Fantastic. Nev will be so pleased. Now, we only have four days before our first meeting, so we all need to hurry up and finish our first rounds of lesson plans,” Harry instructed.

“Do you know what you’re doing for the fourth and fifth years?” Draco asked cautiously.

“I think I’m going to expand upon counter-curses for the fourth years and the stunning spell for the fifth years. What about you?” Harry asked.

Draco’s mouth twisted into a frown. “I’d still like to stick with the green sparks for the first years, if that’s okay with your heiness, and I think I’ll probably do the freezing charm for the third years.”

Harry pointedly ignored Draco’s remark, saying, “that sounds like a great plan.”

“What are we doing for the seventh years, then?” Draco asked.

“I’m not sure,” Harry shrugged. “Neville was mentioning maybe delving a bit into how to avoid being splinched while still protecting yourself in case of an emergency when Apparating. How does that sound to you?”

Draco nodded in approval. “That sounds good … Weasley got splinched, didn’t he? I think I recall hearing a rumor about it.”

The color drained from Harry's face. “Uh, yeah. Seventh year, when we were escaping from the Ministry. It was pretty bad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s alright. His arm is kind of mangled from it, but he’s doing okay now. It took forever to heal.”

“Ah,” Draco replied, not sure what else to say.

“Anyway, I better get going. Lots of papers to grade. Thanks for talking with me, Malfoy,” Harry said as he stood up, brushing off his robe before putting it back on over his thin frame.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Draco said politely.

“Well, see you later.”

“Bye.”

Draco remained seated at the shore of the Great Lake until long after the moon had risen into the inky sky. He contemplated the first meeting, a mere four days away, with anxiety, knots forming in his stomach. The prospect of teaching his students a subject besides potions was nerve-racking in and of itself, but knowing that he was going to be working alongside Harry was nearly worse. A fear took hold in the back of his mind, threatening him with the idea that Harry was going to be far better liked as a professor, and Draco would be left in the dust, his students barely tolerating him. He shook his thoughts away, trying to clear his mind.

“It’s going to be okay.”

He watched the giant squid glide across the glassy surface of the water, disappearing into the reflection of the silver moon.


	9. The First Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Professor Draco is so soft towards his students and it makes me happy

The following Tuesday evening found Draco seated at a desk in the DADA classroom, absently consuming a turkey sandwich. He had agreed to meet Harry and Neville in the DADA classroom at six. In lieu of having dinner in the Great Hall, they had made a decision to bring food from the kitchen to the classroom so that they could eat while rearranging the desks and making sure everything was ready for the club. However, Draco had felt too nervous to stay in his office until six, consequently arriving thirty minutes early.

The torches that lined the classroom walls were aglow with honey colored light, and Draco watched the flames flicker against the dark stone. Looking around the classroom, he wondered what the size of the turnout would be.

The minutes passed by slowly, and Draco tapped his foot in anticipation. Eventually, he heard the soft movement of footsteps clamoring down the hallway. He took his last bite of sandwich, quickly dusting his fingers off.

Harry entered the room, his hands loaded with a plate that was stacked with food. Wordlessly, he set his dinner down on a desk next to where Draco was sitting.

“Hiya,” Harry said cautiously as he tucked into his dinner.

“Hi,” Draco replied, feeling the awkwardness between them.

Harry took a large bite of food. “You excited for tonight?”

“A bit nervous, I suppose,” Draco said sheepishly.

“Makes sense. I am, too.”

After a few minutes of strained silence, Neville entered the room. “Evening, fellas. How’s it going?”

“Fine,” Draco and Harry said in unison.

“Good, good. Well, want to start setting up?”

“Yep.”

“Sure.”

They rearranged the classroom, pushing the desks into a circle, within forty minutes. After everything had been set up, they all sat at a desk, going over their lesson plans as Harry and Neville ate their dinners.

By the time 6:50 rolled around, the first student showed up ― Jenny Walker, a 4th year Gryffindor and one of Draco’s favorite students. She was bright and eager to learn, and she wasn’t afraid to ask questions or second-guess a point Draco made.

“Hello, Ms. Walker. So glad you can join us. Please have a seat,” Draco said, gesturing to a desk nearby.

Jenny sat down, smoothing out her skirt. “Are you expecting there to be a large turnout?”

“Not sure,” Harry said. “I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.”

The minutes trickled by, and nerves began to build. At five till, they got what they had been waiting for. A surge of students, all varying ages, came pouring in. The mood was light and excited, chatter bursting through the crowd as they settled into seats. By the time everyone had flowed in, all of the desks were occupied, and several students were forced to stand around the perimeter of the room.

Neville stood up, clasping his hands together. “Alright, everyone! Settle down! We’ve got a lot to cover tonight. Professor Potter, Professor Malfoy, if you’d join me?”  
Draco and Harry stood up next to Neville. Draco was used to being looked at by students ― hell, that was part of his profession ― but this was different. The club was unsure, and the kids looking up at him were eager with unknown anticipation.

“Okay, I suppose we should get us started by introducing the club. Draco, do you want to start?” Neville asked, prompting him.

Draco cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Okay. Well, welcome everyone. As you know, I’m Professor Malfoy, and I teach potions. My colleagues, Professor Longbottom and Professor Potter, and I have decided to create this club. This is going to be a place that’s safe for exploration in duelling and Defense Against the Dark Arts, going well beyond what Professor Potter will be teaching you in class.”

“We’re so glad you all could make it, and we’re so excited for this to happen,” Harry said, a grin spreading across his face. “While we are all going to be practicing and learning in the same room, you’ll be divided into your own years. Professor Malfoy will be teaching the first and third years, I have the fourth and fifth years, and Professor Longbottom will be in charge of the second and sixth years. For all of you seventh years here, the three of us are going to alternate teaching your group.”

“Now, I want to make it very clear that while this club is meant to be fun, it is also going to require a certain amount of dedication. This is all about learning and enrichment, and it’ll take time and patience. We, of course, understand that homework is a thing, and we want to make sure that your studies are your number one priority. If you’re finding the club to be too much, please let us know. You won’t get in trouble if you need to drop out, and you’re always welcome to come back if you want to,” Neville said.

The rest of the meeting was spent going over the rules and regulations of the club. A form was passed out for the kids who wanted to sign up to fill out, disclosing the level they felt they were at when it came to DADA, as well as providing a signature. As the time rolled around to eight o’clock, they began to conclude the meeting.

“Alright, everyone. This wraps up our first official meeting! Thank you all for taking the time to be here. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to come by our offices. We look forward to seeing you all this Thursday!” Draco said.

The students slowly trickled out of the room as Draco, Harry, and Neville began to put the classroom back together. Just as he finished pushing the front desk back into place, he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned around to find himself face to face with Jenny Walker.

“Hi, Professor. I just wanted to say thank you for putting this club together. I’m a Muggleborn student, so I’ve always felt a strange attachment to magic, and I want to learn as much about it as possible. I’m so glad you’re a part of it, since you’re my favorite professor,” Jenny said, beaming.

Draco felt his heart swell with pride, and he could feel a wide smile spreading across his face. “It’s my pleasure, Ms. Walker. I’m thrilled that you decided to join. You are one of my brightest pupils, and I think you’re really going to benefit from the things you’ll be learning here.”

“Thanks, Professor Malfoy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As Draco watched Jenny exit the classroom, Harry came and stood next to him, putting his hands on his hip.

“Jenny’s a great student, isn’t she?” Harry asked, smiling.

Draco nodded. “Yeah, she is. She actually reminds me a lot of a young Granger.”

“I can see that,” Harry agreed.

“So, lads, how was that?” Neville asked, wandering over to the two of them.

Draco grinned. “I think we've got ourselves a club.”


	10. Cherry Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw: minor alcohol mention

“Malfoy!”

Draco, who was sauntering to his classroom, turned around at the sound of Harry's voice echoing down the busy corridor that was jam packed with students heading to their first Wednesday class.

“Potter?” Draco asked, pausing quizzically as he watched him jog a few paces to catch up.

“Listen,” Harry began, coming to a stop in front of Draco, “Nev and I are going to the Three Broomsticks tonight. Want to join us?”

“Oh. Okay. Um, sure,” Draco said hesitantly.

“Great. Meet us at the front gates at seven. We’ll apparate once we’re off the school grounds,” Harry said beaming.

“Will do. By the way, Potter, don’t you have a class to get to?” Draco asked, smirking.

“Shit,” Harry muttered, looking at his wristwatch, “I’ve got to go. Remember, seven o’clock!”

“I’ve got it, Potter,” Draco yelled after him, watching Harry disappear into the swarm of students.

All throughout the day, Draco felt distracted. The only thing that saved him from completely obsessing over his invitation to the Three Broomsticks was his students, nearly all of whom were chattering away about the duelling club. From what Draco could tell, the students had taken a great liking to the club, and this lifted his heart significantly throughout the sluggish day.

However, as the late afternoon dissolved into the early evening, Draco couldn’t help but feel a nervousness settling into his stomach. Not wanting to be such an anxious mess at the staff table, he opted for dinner in his office. He decided to grade essays while picking at his plate, looking at the clock every few minutes. As soon as the clock struck 6:30, he abruptly stood up, grabbed his satchel, and wound his way out of the castle.

The fading night was bitter and dark, the first semblance of the year turning cold, despite it only being mid-September. A bitter wind blew through the air, and Draco huddled further into his coat as he paced around the front gate, waiting silently for his company to join him.

At five minutes past seven, Draco could make out the silhouettes of Harry and Neville lumbering towards him. He rolled his eyes as they came into view.

“And you were worried that I wasn’t going to show up at seven,” Draco huffed, although there was a lightness to his voice.

“Shut up, Malfoy. Are you ready?” Harry asked.

“Yep.”

The three of them took a few steps outside of the front gate before apparating to the Three Broomsticks, Draco’s stomach twisting in angry knots as the ground slid back under his feet.

“Merlin, I hate this,” Draco muttered, gathering his bearings.

“You alright there, Malfoy?” Neville asked, patting him on the back.

“Yes. Fine. Let’s get going, shall we?” Draco said, hoping that walking would help to ease the nausea.

Harry was the one to push the door to the pub open, a warm gust of wind coming from the direction of the large fireplace near the back of the room.

“You lads go find us a table. I’ll order. What do you want?” Neville asked.

While Harry ordered Firewhiskey, Draco opted for the smoother taste of cherry wine. As Neville headed towards the bar, he and Harry wandered around the room, looking for a suitable table.

Thankfully, as it was a Wednesday night, there were few patrons occupying space. Eventually, they landed on a booth near the fireplace. Draco and Harry settled in from across one another, a somewhat awkward silence ensuing.

“So,” Harry began, clearing his throat, “how was your day?”

“Small talk? Really?” Draco snorted.

“Yes, really. We’re supposed to be getting along,” Harry frowned.

Draco waved a hand dismissively in the air. “Alright, alright. I’ll play along. My day was fine. How about you?”

Harry shrugged. “Normal, I suppose, although I couldn’t get my students to be quiet about the club long enough to actually teach them anything.”

Draco nodded. “I understand. My kids were like that too. It seems that our club was quite the hit.”

“I mean, it’s pretty great, isn’t it? Knowing we made something that’s going to be successful?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Draco said, offering him a small smile, “it is.”

As Draco’s voice trailed off, their eyes caught each other. Wordlessly, they stared at one another, the silence that sat between them no longer feeling thick and uncomfortable. 

They stayed like that for what seemed like forever, simply taking the other person in.

“Here you go, fellas,” Neville said, startling the both of them. 

Draco cleared his throat awkwardly as he accepted his cherry wine, his cheeks going red. Taking a quick glance at Harry, who looked just as frazzled, Draco didn’t quite know what to make of what had just happened.

Neville slid into the booth next to Harry and took a long sip of his beer. “So, what were you guys talking about?”

“Uh―” Draco began.

“Well, we were―”

“―talking about the club and how popular it was.”

“Right,” Harry said, taking a large swig of Firewhiskey.

“I couldn’t believe how much the kids loved it, to be honest. I just hope it stays that way,” Neville sighed.

Draco nodded. “Me too. I don’t want them to lose interest.”

“I don’t think they will,” Harry chimed in. “I’ve got a feeling that this club is going to stick around for a while.”

“Really?” Draco asked.

“Really.”

“So,” Neville began, looking at Draco, “what have you been doing between the war and teaching?”

Draco, who was taken aback, blanched. “Oh. Well, taking care of my mother, mostly. She took ill after my father was sent to Azkaban, and she never fully recovered from it. Two years ago, it became apparent that I could no longer care for her at home, so she was moved to the hospice ward at St. Mungo’s.”

“Merlin, I’m so sorry,” Harry murmured, the sincerity in his voice sounding genuine.

“Oh, don’t be. She’s in much better care now, and that’s all that matters,” Draco said, doing his best to lightly brush off the topic at hand.

“I’m truly sorry that you’re having to go through that. I know what it feels like,” Neville said, frowning.

At that, Draco swallowed thickly, suddenly remembering the fact that his aunt was the one who tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom beyond return.

“I am really sorry about that … about everything,” Draco said quietly, staring down at the table.

“Hey, don’t be. It wasn’t your fault,” Neville said, giving him a cheerful grin.

“What about you, Potter? What have you been up to?” Draco asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Oh,” Harry said, rearranging himself in his seat, “well, nothing too exciting. I’ve mostly been helping Ron take care of his kids. He’s a stay-at-home dad, and Hermione works at the Ministry. They’ve got the most adorable children, Rose and Hugo. Other than that, I haven’t been doing much.”

“Why’d you decide to take the DADA position?” Draco asked, curious.

“I guess I just felt like it was time for me to make a difference. With Rose and Hugo, I was only leaving an impression on them. When I got the letter from Minerva, I realized that my purpose might extend beyond Ron and Hermione’s kids,” Harry explained.

“That makes sense.”

As the evening wore on, Neville chatting endlessly about a new plant he had acquired, Draco couldn’t help but think about Harry. They caught each other’s eyes several times during the span of the night, each time making Draco feel breathless.


	11. The Teaching Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're slowly becoming friends!!! I'm so proud of them!!
> 
> Also, almost 100 people have subscribed to this fic!! I'm honestly so surprised, so here's a huge thank you! I'm so glad that there's so many of you who are invested in this story of our boys, and I appreciate all of you so much💜

Draco tucked into his dinner at the staff table the following evening, excited chatter filling the air around him. He ate quickly, knowing he only had a few minutes before he had to start getting the DADA classroom ready for the night’s club meeting. The teaching was finally going to begin, and he could feel a hum of energy coursing through his body.

“Hey.”

Draco, startled, turned to see Harry plopping down in the seat next to him with a large smile on his face.

“Hi,” he replied, not sure what to make of Harry actively choosing to sit next to him.

“So,” Harry began, shovelling a forkful of pasta into his mouth, “you nervous about tonight?”

Draco shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose. You?”

Harry nodded. “Me too. By the way, Nev is just going to meet us at the classroom at seven. He’s caught up with a, uh, rogue plant.”

Draco snorted into his goblet of water. “A rogue plant?”

“Don’t ask, those are the only details he gave me.”

“Fair enough,” Draco said.

They resumed eating their dinners in silence, Draco taking the time to watch the four house tables buzz with enlivened students, all of whom were counting down the minutes until seven o’clock. It wasn’t until several awkward moments had passed that Harry spoke again.

“So, there’s this question I’ve been wanting to ask you since yesterday,” Harry said, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

Draco knitted his brows together. “Which is?”

“I was just wondering … Is St. Mungo’s allowing people to visit your mum?” Harry asked softly.

Draco let out a long breath, having been taken aback. “Um, yes. She can have visitors, although it’s likely that she won’t be conscious. Are you … interested in visiting her?”

Harry nodded. “Did she ever tell you that she saved me during the battle?”

“No, she didn’t,” Draco said, frowning.

“Oh. Well, that’s a story for another time, then. For now, just know that I need to thank her one last time,” Harry said.

“What are you doing tomorrow evening?” Draco asked, not realizing the words had left his mouth until he saw a curious expression cross Harry's face.

“Uh, nothing, I don’t think. Why?” Harry asked.

“Well, I was planning on visiting her tomorrow. I try to visit her every Friday. Why don’t you come with me?” Draco asked. “You can tell me about how she saved you on the way.”

Harry smiled softly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

They both finished dinner rather quickly, bolting from the staff table as soon as they were done. Wordlessly, they walked down several corridors together, navigating their way to the classroom. As they walked side by side, Draco kept finding himself stealing glances at Harry. The dim golden light of the corridor reflected off his glasses, making his deep green eyes glow with amber specks, and the scar that cracked across his face was luminated from the flickering torches that lined the walls. The silence between them no longer felt as awkward; instead, it was as though the quiet was gentle and purposeful, pulling the both of them together into one single moment.

When they arrived at the classroom, Harry flicked his wand, sending the torches around the room to life. Outside the broad windows, a full moon hung bright and low against the velvet sky, which was dotted with silver stars. A soft breeze rolled over the crests of the trees that lined the Forbidden Forest, and several creatures could be heard rustling through the night. Harry walked over to the windows, cracking them open. The sweet smell of mid-September night air filled the classroom, dissolving any dust that had collected throughout the day.

“Right. How should we go about moving the desks? We’ll need a lot more room since we’re actually going to be teaching this time,” Harry said, resting his hands on his hips.

Draco frowned, contemplating the predicament. “Why don’t we shrink the desks and store them in the broom closet outside the classroom?”

A wide grin broke out across Harry's face. “Brilliant.”

For the next twenty minutes, they went about shrinking the desks and then stacking them carefully in the broom closet. By the time 6:45 rolled around, the classroom looked spacious and wide open. Draco and Harry milled about, admiring their handiwork.

“We really need to find a bigger space where we can practice,” Draco concluded, looking around the room.

“I mean … there’s always the Room of Requirement,” Harry muttered softly.

Draco swallowed thickly, the vivid memory of Vincent becoming trapped by the fiendfyre flashing across his mind.

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

Slowly, students began to file into the room, which was quickly becoming crowded. By the time Draco’s watch struck seven, the classroom was filled to the brim with eager eyed students of all ages. Just as Draco was about to begin speaking, Neville burst through the open door. His robes were covered in mud, and he had a large smear of dirt streaking across the bridge of his nose. Despite looking like an absolute mess, he strolled over to Draco and Harry with a bright smile.

“Sorry I’m late. One of my Mandrakes decided to throw an absolute fit,” Neville whispered to them.

“No problem. We were just about to get started,” Harry replied, patting Neville on the back.

Draco cleared his throat. “Alright, everyone! Welcome to the second meeting of the duelling club! Tonight is the first of many meetings where you’ll actually be practicing useful skills and strategies regarding Defense Against the Dark Arts and duelling.”

A large cheer erupted across the room from the students, and Draco could feel a wide smile spreading across his face. The sheer look of joy on his students’ faces was enough to let him know he'd made the right choice in deciding to come back to the club.

“Alright, kids. Listen up! I’m going to need you all to arrange yourselves by year. First and third years, please go stand by Professor Malfoy. Second and sixth years, go with Professor Longbottom. And fourth and fifth years, you’re with me. Seventh years, if you could please stand in the far right corner. One of us will be with you shortly. Ready? Go!” Harry instructed, beaming.

The students moved in a scramble, organizing themselves as quickly as possible. Draco corralled the first and third years into the far left corner of the classroom, making sure to spread the two groups out appropriately. Once all of the years were in their correct places, the teaching began.

“Okay, first years. I’m going to be teaching you how to do green sparks. I know that it seems simple and mundane, but green sparks are actually quite important when it comes to safety. They are an excellent way to alert people if you’re feeling like you’re in danger and need help,” Draco said.

After explaining the basics of the green sparks, he had them verbally practice the incantation before using their wands. He supervised them actually casting the sparks for several minutes before turning to the third years.

“Alright, everyone. We’re going to work on the freezing charm. This is an incredibly helpful spell if you’re duelling someone and you need them to stop moving in order to get the upper hand. Think of it as a disarming spell of sorts. As well as human targets, this also works for objects. And no, Mr. Carson, this does not mean that you can use this to freeze the snitch,” Draco joked, looking at the Slytherin seeker.

“Oi! I wouldn’t dream of it,” Daniel Carson said, a smirk on his face.

“Now, moving on,” Draco said, resuming his lecture. “Repeat after me. _Immobulus_!”

“ _Immobulus_!” the third years echoed.

“Excellent. Please take out your wands. You’re going to want to make a U-shape with them, and they should be level with your shoulder. I would like you to pair up, and you’re going to be practicing the spell on one another,” Draco instructed.

Once everyone was paired up, the practicing began. Half of the third years all turned to ice in unison, the casters of the spell letting out shouts of awe. After a few moments, the spell dissolved, and the frozen students thawed out, completely unharmed.

“Now, switch!” Draco said, smiling at the progress that they were making.

While they practiced the freezing spell, he quickly checked on the first years, all of them excelling at the green sparks.

After making sure that both groups were doing well, Draco let himself glance at the other side of the room. Neville was working with the seventh years, explaining the basics of splinching.

“Professor Malfoy,” Neville shouted from across the room, “would you be willing to show the seventh years how to apply dittany next Tuesday?”

Draco nodded. “Absolutely.”

He then looked towards Harry, who was in the midst of teaching the fourth years what a counter-curse was. Harry caught his eye and gave him a thumbs up, a lopsided grin appearing across his face.

Draco smiled back, a feeling of quiet content warming his chest.


	12. St. Mungo's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw: description of weight loss, discussion of terminal health issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!!💜💜💜

The evening was bright and cold, a frigid wind rolling over the grounds of Hogwarts. The sky was a dusty orange color, and the light of the sunset reflected off of puffy white clouds that drifted with the breeze. Draco, having changed out of his robes, huddled into his grey, woolen peacoat as he waited for Harry by the gates. He nervously checked his pocket watch, willing Harry to hurry up so he could get out of the cold.

“Hey!”

Draco looked up, watching as Harry approached him. He wasn’t in his robes either. Instead, he had opted for a hoodie and jeans.

“Hi. Are you ready?” Draco asked.

“Yep. And thanks again for bringing me along. I really appreciate it,” Harry said, offering him a soft smile.

“Don’t mention it,” Draco said lightly, although his anxiety was quite prevalent.

  
He was about to show Harry a situation in which he had been dealing with on his own for years, and that racked his nerves. Hardly anyone knew about his mother’s condition. In fact, in the years since the war had ended, she hadn’t received a single visitor, at home or at St. Mungo’s.

They stepped outside of the Hogwarts gates, and Harry hopped from one foot to the other to keep the cold from kicking in. Draco looked back at the castle, which was looming against the light of the fading sky. He sighed, knowing he would feel exhausted after visiting his mother. He always did.

“Ready to go?” Draco asked.

“Yep.”

Hesitantly, Draco linked his own arm with Harry's before Disapparating. Draco could feel the tight, uncomfortable squeeze, blackness setting in as his ears began to violently ring. He felt like he was going to implode at any moment, but suddenly it stopped. Draco blinked, feeling for the solid ground underneath his feet. Next to him, Harry was breathing heavily.

“I’ll never get used to that, to be honest,” Harry admitted sheepishly.

Draco snorted. “It is pretty terrible.”

A silence fell over them as they both looked to the large hospital in front of them. Draco took a deep breath, knowing what was coming.

“Hey, you okay?” Harry asked, frowning.

Draco nodded. “Fine, thank you. Let’s go.”

Together, they walked up the marble stairs that led to the entrance of the hospital. Once inside, Draco let out a sigh of relief as warm heat sank into his chilled bones. He gestured for Harry to follow, leading him up the flight of stairs and to the third floor. Once there, Draco walked over to the front desk. A slender woman, roughly his age, blinked at him.

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy! So glad to see you. Your mother’s mediwizard is actually examining her at the moment, so if you’d please take a seat,” the woman said, gesturing to the seating area in the waiting room, “and I’ll let you know when you can go in.”

Draco nodded. “Thank you.”

He walked over to Harry, who was already sitting. “Well, since we have to wait a while, why don’t you tell me how my mother saved your life?”

Harry looked taken aback, but he nodded eagerly. “Yeah, of course. It happened in the Forbidden Forest during the battle. I had gone to face Voldemort, and we ended up duelling. I was hit, and no one could tell if I was dead or not. Voldemort instructed Narcissa to check on me. She could tell I was breathing, and so she quietly asked me if you were okay. I nodded, and in turn she lied for me, telling Voldemort that I was dead. So, in exchange for information on you, she saved my life.”

Draco tried to take in Harry's words. He couldn’t quite believe that his mother had gone against the Dark Lord is such a bold way. From a young age, it had been beaten into him to obey both his parents and, eventually, The Dark Lord. Draco swallowed thickly, attempting to comprehend the fact that his mother, for a brief moment, had thrown all of that away in order to check on him. He could feel his throat tightening, and the soft prick of tears began to press against his eyes. He blinked, willing the tears to go away.

“Merlin. I had no idea,” Draco whispered hoarsely, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

Suddenly, he felt the pressure of Harry's hand on his back.

“I don’t think I could ever thank her enough,” Harry replied softly.

Draco sighed when the warmth of Harry's hand left his back. “Well, thank you for telling me that.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

After a few minutes of waiting, the witch from behind the desk called Draco up; Harry followed, although he kept his distance.

“Alright, Mr. Malfoy. Your mother is ready for you. Is this a visitor?” the witch asked, gesturing to Harry.

“Uh, yeah, that’s―”

“Harry Potter,” the witch gasped, her eyes glued to Harry.

“Yes, well, thank you,” Draco said before ushering the two of them down the corridor that led to his mother’s room.

He opened the door to the room, the smell of alcohol and disinfectant potions hitting him. Harry followed close behind, shutting the door. Draco pulled two chairs up to the side of the bed, sitting in the one closest to his mother’s upper half.

He let out a heavy sigh. His mother’s skin was even greyer than it had been last week, and her breaths were coming in shallow wheezes. During the time she had fallen ill, she had lost an incredible amount of weight. However, that nearly seemed like nothing compared to what she looked like now: her collarbones were severely protruding underneath her hospital gown, there were deep hollows in her cheeks, and her skin seemed to be hanging limply off of her small frame.

“Shit,” Harry murmured. “I didn’t know it was this bad.”

Draco made a general noise of agreement. “She looks worse than she did last week.”

“Is … is what she has terminal?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Draco said softly, watching his mother’s chest rise and fall in ragged breaths.

Harry cleared his throat. “Has she been diagnosed with anything, or do the mediwizards not know what’s wrong?”

Draco shrugged. “She’s dying of heartbreak.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, knitting his brows together.

“Like I said at the Three Broomsticks, she never recovered after my father was sent to Azkaban. She slipped into a deep depression; she wouldn’t leave her room, and she stopped taking joy in things that used to make her happy. I would sit by her bedside, reading to her for hours. Nothing seemed to help, not even me. Anyway, things took a turn when my father died three years ago. That was when my mother really began to go downhill. All of the little things began to add up: not talking, not eating, refusing to take potions. I was only twenty-two. Last year, McGonagall offered me a teaching position starting this school year. When I got the letter, I had to make a decision, stay with my mother or begin to live a life that belonged solely to me for the first time. My mother was getting nearly impossible to take care of. I couldn’t keep up. That, in addition to the job offer, made me realize that I could no longer be the main caretaker. So, long story short, yes ― she is dying. In the end, life got too hard for her. It's only a matter of time before her body gives in,” Draco said, his voice cracking.

“God, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?” Harry asked, taking Draco’s hand in his own. Draco stared at their hands, which were intertwined, and a small wave of something indescribable washed over his body, settling in the pit of his stomach.

“No, I don’t think so. Thanks, though,” Draco said.

Harry nodded. “Would you mind if I thanked her alone? It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be right outside. Just let me know when you’re done, and we can go,” Draco said, standing up. He leaned over his mother, swiftly pressing a kiss to her clammy forehead before heading out the door.

After closing the door, Draco leaned against the wall. Just as he was beginning to mull over the visit, he realized he could hear Harry speaking. Subtly moving closer to the door, he listened.

“So, hi, Narcissa. Or is it Mrs. Malfoy? I’m going to go with Narcissa. Anyway, I’m just here to say thank you for all that you’ve done. I’m still in disbelief that you turned on everything just to know if your son was okay or not. I deeply admire that. Thank you for, in turn, giving me the opportunity to live. You saved me, Narcissa, and I know I’ll never be able to repay you for it. You know, I don’t agree with a lot of things that you and Lucius did, but I can admit that you are an incredible mother. Malfoy is truly lucky to have you. I-I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to thank you for everything under different circumstances, and I’m sorry that you’re in such pain. Please just know that Malfoy loves you so much. You truly mean the world to him,” Harry said softly.

As Draco listened, he realized that he no longer felt quite so alone.


	13. Saturday Dittany

“Alright, dittany, dittany …” Draco murmured to himself, pawing through the collection of herbs and ingredients in the potions cupboard.

After a minute of forgetting where he had put it, he finally managed to come across the collection of dried dittany sitting on the third shelf in the back. Tearing off ten leaves, he walked back to his cauldron, which was bubbling away at the front of his classroom.

Peering inside the cauldron, Draco gently placed the leaves on the surface of the boiling water. The leaves immediately began to shrivel. After a minute, nothing was left but a few wisps of silver smoke curling off of the water. While waiting the ten minutes needed to fully incorporate the dittany into the water, he began to chop two sprigs of rosemary. The sound of the knife hitting the chopping board echoed against the silence that filled the four walls of the classroom. Draco sighed, relaxing into solitude. As much as he loved his students, it was nice having the Saturday afternoon to himself.

Once ten minutes was up, he gently slid the rosemary, as well as two tablespoons of turmeric, into the contents of the cauldron. While the dittany’s job was to grow skin on any splinched individual, the rosemary and turmeric were there to assist with inflammation and oxidation. As Draco stirred the potion clockwise five times and counterclockwise twice, a strong herbal smell lifted into the air, peeling off of the thick curls of smoke that were emitting from the cauldron.

“Hey, Malfoy.”

Draco, startled, looked up to find Harry wandering into his classroom. His corkscrew curls were dishevelled, and he looked as though he hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night. Giving the dittany potion a final stir, he gestured for Harry to take a seat.

“Merlin, Potter, you look like hell. What happened to you?” Draco asked, watching as Harry sat down at a desk near where his cauldron was brewing.

“I can’t stop thinking about your mum,” Harry said, sighing.

Draco raised his eyebrows. “My mum?”

Harry nodded. “Your mum.”

“Why, dare I ask, can’t you stop thinking about my mother?” Draco asked.

“I don’t know, I just … I wish I could help. It’s hard knowing that there’s nothing I can do,” Harry said quietly.

Draco let out a long breath. “Yeah. That’s the thing, I suppose. There isn’t anything that can help her at this point.”

“You know,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair, “I know what it’s like to not grow up with parents. The only time I’ve ever remembered anything about my parents was when dementors would attack. This was before Remus taught me how to cast the Patronus. I could hear my mum’s screams, her begging Voldemort to kill her instead of me. The thing is, though, that I have no idea what it’s like to consciously lose your parents. By the time I could hold onto memories, my parents were already gone. You … you aren’t going to have that, and I’m sorry.”

Draco looked down, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “Thanks, Potter.”

“And just, well, let me know if you need anything. Alright?” Harry said.

Draco nodded. “I will. Can … can we talk about something else?”

“Yeah, of course. Um, any plans this weekend?” Harry asked.

“No, not really. I’m just going to be keeping any eye on the dittany until Monday afternoon, which is when it should be finished.”

“The dittany potion for Tuesday’s lesson? Nice!” Harry said, beaming.

“Thanks. What about you? Have any plans?” Draco asked

“Oh, I might go check out the Room of Requirement. See if it’s suitable for the duelling club, you know?” Harry asked.

“Oh,” Draco said, nodding. 

Harry had mentioned the Room of Requirement before, but Draco had hoped that it was all just words. Nothing concrete.

“Do … do you want to come with me? Neville is visiting his parents this weekend, so it would just be the two of us,” Harry explained.

Draco let out a long sigh. “I don’t know, Potter. Maybe.”

The air between them went still, and the only sound filling the room was that of bubbles erupting off of the boiling surface of the dittany potion. Draco stared at the floor, observing the decades of marks from stools etched into the wooden slats. In the years that followed after Vincent’s death, he had never found the time to deal with it. That, and he didn’t necessarily want to.  
It was Harry who finally broke the silence.

“Is it because of Crabbe?” he whispered.

Draco tried to swallow the lump that was in his throat. “I, um, yes. Yeah, it’s … it’s Vincent.”

Harry nodded. “I understand. Well, you’re certainly not obligated to go, and if it makes you feel uncomfortable, we can find a different place to―”

“No, Potter,” Draco said, interrupting, “I’ll go. I―I’ll go.”

Harry frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Is there anything you want to talk about? Or―”

“Potter, would you please leave? I just … I need some time alone,” Draco snapped, running a hand anxiously through his hair.

“Oh, yeah. Okay. Well, if you’re up to it, meet me on the seventh floor tomorrow after dinner. I’ll, uh, see you around,” Harry said softly, standing up and quickly exiting the classroom.

As soon as the door shut behind Harry, Draco collapsed into himself, leaning his head heavily on the desk. A broken sob left his mouth as hot tears stained his cheeks, and he let himself think about Vincent for the first time since the 2nd of May 1998.


	14. Vincent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw: mourning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fucking hurt to write

The following evening, Draco opted for dinner in his living quarters instead of dining in the Great Hall. As he sat on his bed, absently picking at his food, he thought about Vincent. The last time he had seen his childhood friend was when he had been seventeen, an age that seemed like forever ago.

Sheets of frigid rain fell hard onto the roof of the castle. Draco watched the storm outside his window, an occasional flash of lightning cracking against the charcoal clouds. The entire day had been filled with rain, coincidentally matching Draco’s foul, sullen mood. In the early afternoon, he had watched the Gryffindor Quidditch team coming back from the pitch, all of them donning bright smiles as they had run into the castle for cover. The sight had sent a visceral wave of sadness over him, remembering all of the rainy days he had spent playing Quidditch, Vincent and Greg in the stands to cheer him on.

When the clock read ten minutes to seven, Draco sighed as he pushed away his plate, which he had hardly touched. Trying to numb himself as much as possible, he took one last look in the mirror before exiting his living quarters.

The walk to the seventh floor was long and filled with silence. He passed an occasional student or two, but most of them had already headed for the common rooms. He tried not to think about what he was doing or where he was going. Instead, he forced his mind to turn to the one thing that made him happy. Teaching. He would be teaching his fifth year students about unicorn horns and their importance in potion making during the upcoming week, and he fully admitted that he was thrilled about it.

Once he reached the seventh floor, he paused, taking a deep breath. Just around the corner was the Room of Requirement. He stood there, motionless, as he tried to reason with himself. There was something akin to fear settling in the pit of his stomach, anchoring him to the idea that he was making a mistake. Just as he was about to go back to his living quarters, chalking all of this up to a lapse in judgement, a hand patted him on the shoulder. He jumped at the touch, turning around to find Harry standing next to him.

“You okay?” Harry asked, offering him a sad smile.

Draco let his face harden. “Fine, Potter. Let’s just get this over with.”

Harry frowned. “Alright.”

As they rounded the corner, Draco found himself wondering why he was having such a difficult time trusting Harry with Vincent’s death. It made far more sense for him to be more guarded about his mother, and yet he was able to be relatively open with that. The more he thought about it, the more he realized the difference. He had accepted his mother’s inevitable death a year ago. With Vincent, Draco had never accepted the fact that he was gone.

When they reached the stone wall where the Room of Requirement was hidden. Harry paced by the wall three times, and suddenly the door appeared. Harry gave him one last sympathetic glance, and Draco shot him a scowl.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Harry asked.

Irritation bloomed inside Draco’s chest. “Just open the fucking door, Potter.”

Harry sighed, turning the doorknob before walking inside. Draco hesitantly followed him, not quite sure what he was about to be faced with.

As he entered the Room of Requirement, he realized that it looked rather different from the last time he had been in it. Where there had been stacks of rubbish and vintage artifacts sat a perfectly large, clean room with high beam ceilings and a padded floor. There were wide windows on the far wall, looking out the waves of rain that were falling on the surface of the lake.

Although the room no longer looked the same, Draco could still feel the presence of Vincent. He briefly closed his eyes, remembering the look of terror on Vincent’s face as he had fallen into the burning fire. Draco had screamed out his name, wanting nothing more than to lunge towards him. While he knew he couldn’t have saved Vincent, he regretted not trying.

“So, what do you think, Malfoy? Does it look good to you?” Harry asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Draco’s eyes blinked open, and he found that Harry was staring expectantly at him. “Oh. Um, yes. It’s suitable.”

“I agree. We’ll have so much more room here, and I think the seventh years will really benefit from being able to spread out a bit. Don’t you think?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Draco said shortly.

Harry nodded. “What are you planning on teaching your kids this week?”

“I haven’t actually gotten that far, to be honest. What about you?” Draco asked.

“I think I’m going to teach the fourth years alternative spells for the Unforgivable Curses, since we’re learning about them in class right now. As for the fifth years, I’m going with the trip jinx,” Harry explained.

They stood in silence for a while, both of them taking in the room. The only sound was that of the pounding rain, which hadn’t let up in the slightest. As Draco walked across the padded floor and over to the windows, he felt a swell of guilt building in his heart.

He had survived Vincent by eight years ― Vincent, who never had never truly reached adulthood. Despite having been eighteen, he had died as a child. Draco didn’t quite understand how he had been the one to live.

A long suppressed memory of Vincent came into his mind. He, Vincent, and Greg had been walking along the edge of the Great Lake during a balmy day at the beginning of fourth year. They had been discussing the upcoming Yule Ball and who they wanted to bring as their dates. Draco stated Pansy as the obvious option, and Greg immediately said he was going to ask Millicent. Vincent, on the other hand, was much more reserved.

_“Come on, Vince. You must like somebody,” Draco prodded, nudging his shoulder._

_Vincent shrugged. “I dunno.”_

_“Vinnie, we won’t judge,” Greg said._

_"Well, I don't know about that," Draco said, snorting._

_“I don’t like anyone,” Vincent insisted, averting his eyes._

_Draco raised an eyebrow, looking from Vincent to Greg, and something clicked in his mind._

_When Greg left for the owelry, Draco turned to Vincent._

_“You love Greg … don’t you?” he asked, crossing his arms._

_Vincent’s eyes grew wide, and his lip began to wobble. “Please don’t tell him. Please, Draco. I’m begging you.”_

_Before Draco knew it, Vincent was seeking comfort in his arms. Taken aback, he gently reached his arms around Vincent, holding him._

_“Shh. It’s okay, Vince. I won’t tell him.”_

Vincent had never had the opportunity to disclose his feelings to Greg.

A sharp pain hit Draco as he thought back to Greg and Millicent’s wedding four years ago.


	15. Hagrid's Hut

Before Draco knew it, nearly a month had gone by, mid-September turning into mid-October. The Hogwarts grounds were now covered in a flurry of crimson, gold, and amber leaves, and Hagrid’s pumpkin patch was beginning to overflow.

In the evenings, Draco had taken to sitting at the crest of the hill that led down to Hagrid’s hut, watching the world go by with a cup of cinnamon tea in his hands. There was something about watching an enormously large man tending to his excessively big pumpkins that gave him a sense of calmness.

Ten days before Halloween, Draco found himself seated on his perch, watching with curiosity as Hagrid went about feeding his Flobberworms under the darkness of twilight. Silver stars faintly dotted the orchid colored sky, and a full moon hung low over the crests of pines that made up the Forbidden Forest.

Draco cast a heating charm over himself, as his thin, dark purple robes were lacking in warmth, and there was a frigid wind rolling over the grounds. As he took a sip of tea, he thought back on the progress of the duelling club.

Despite the trauma that came with every meeting held in the Room of Requirement, it had been a smashing hit amongst the students. Their club meetings were no longer cramped, and there was enough room for each year to have plenty of space to spread out. Plus, the padded floors were a bonus. When Draco had taught the first years how to cast a knockback jinx, he hadn’t needed to worry about them breaking their small bodies.

Their first Saturday show-and-tell meeting had also gone well, with each year demonstrating what they had learned over the past month. It had been fairly amusing watching the seventh years cheer on the first years when they had demonstrated their green sparks, and he had barely been able to hold in his laughter when the first years watched the seventh years demonstrate how to apply dittany. Draco had found the entire experience quite visceral, vividly remembering learning these spells during his own years at Hogwarts.

As he sat there, thinking about all that had happened during the past month, he heard a crunching sound. Turning around, he saw Harry approaching him, his red robes billowing out behind him in the breeze.

Draco arched an eyebrow as Harry took a seat next to him on the ground.

“Hey,” Harry said, grinning.

“Not to be rude, but what _exactly_ are you doing here, Potter?” Draco asked.

Harry let out a dry laugh. “I was on my way to visit Hagrid but then saw you and figured I’d join.”

“Ah.”

“So, is this where you disappear off to every night after dinner?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded. “Yeah. It’s relaxing, I suppose.”

“Agreed. I might just steal your idea. Do you think you’d mind the company?” Harry asked, smirking.

“Don’t you _dare_ , Potter,” Draco said, although there was laughter in his voice as he lightly shoved Harry. “This is _my_ spot, and my spot _only_ , thank you very much.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry said, holding up his hands in surrender.

“Good.”

“So,” Harry began, his laughter dying out, “have any plans for Halloween?”

Draco frowned. “Besides making sure that the seventh years don’t become ridiculously inebriated, I don’t think so.”

“Well, in that case,” Harry said, grinning, “Neville and I were thinking of going to the Three Broomsticks and getting a few drinks. Want to come?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Great! There is one condition, though. You have to dress up,” Harry said.

Draco’s face fell. “I beg your pardon?”

“You know, dress up.”

Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And what, exactly, are you and Longbottom going as?”

“Nev is going as a Mandrake, and I’m thinking of going as a unicorn.”

“A unicorn,” Draco repeated flatly.

“Yeah. What’s wrong with a unicorn?” Harry asked, frowning.

"Nothing, Potter. Nothing.”

“Right. Well, what are you thinking of going as?” Harry asked.

Draco snorted. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Fine, fine,” Harry said, dismissively waving a hand.

A comfortable silence fell over them as the twilight began to dissolve into misty darkness. Off in the distance, Draco could make out the sounds of creatures scuffling across the floor of the Forbidden Forest.

“So,” Harry began, breaking the silence, “want to visit Hagrid with me?”

Draco blinked. “What, now?”

“Well, I _did_ say I was on my way to visit him earlier.”

“Yeah, fine.”

As Draco stood, he realized that he’d never had a proper conversation with Hagrid. As a child, he had mostly taken to calling him names and trying to get him fired.

He let out a heavy sigh.

By the time they reached the hut, Hagrid had disappeared inside. Thick wisps of smoke were billowing out of the chimney, and Draco could hear humming coming from the inside.

A few moments after Harry knocked on the large door, Hagrid appeared. A lacey apron was wrapped around his midsection, and he was wearing enormous oven mitts. At his feet stood a barking Fang, who had gone grey in the muzzle. Behind them, Draco could see black puffs of smoke coming from the oven.

“Harry!” Hagrid said, smiling widely. “What brings yeh abou’ this evenin’?”

“Oh, just round for a visit.”

“Uh, sorry to interrupt,” Draco said, “but it would appear that your oven is on fire.”

Hagrid turned around and let out a gruff sigh, muttering as he made his way back into the hut. With a shrug, Harry followed, as did Draco, closing the door behind them.

“Shouldn’ta lef it in fer so long,” Hagrid said, pulling a tray of black baked goods from the oven.

“Oh, Hagrid, I’m so sorry,” Harry said, taking a seat on the worn couch.

Draco hesitantly sat down next to him.

“Ah, don’ be,” Hagrid said, stripping off his oven mitts before settling into a large rocking chair. “An’ Malfoy, wha’re yeh doin’ here?”

Draco blanched. “Uh, Harry was on his way to visit you, so I thought I’d tag along. I, um, I’m sorry I haven’t visited you sooner to apologize. I just … I don't know if there’s anything I can say to make up for how I treated you as a child. I’m sorry, Hagrid.”

“Don’ worry ‘bout it. We all make mistakes,” Hagrid said. “So, how’s teachin’ goin’? I’ve heard bits an’ pieces from the firs’ years about yer club.”

“Yeah, it’s brilliant. You should come by sometime and watch,” Harry said.

“I don’ know ‘bout tha’, Harry. We’ll see,” Hagrid said before turning to Draco. “Wha’ ‘bout yeh, Malfoy? I wouldn’ ‘ave pegged yeh as the teachin’ type. How’re yeh liking it?”

Draco awkwardly cleared his throat. “I … well, I love it, to be honest. I can’t imagine myself doing anything else.”

Hagrid nodded. “Good fer yeh. An’ I’m sorry ter hear ‘bout yer father ─ not tha’ I particularly cared fer the man, but, well … ‘s always hard losin’ a paren’.”

Looking at Hagrid, Draco couldn’t believe the inherent forgiveness he had been given. He offered Hagrid a small smile, who returned it.

And that was enough.


	16. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you for all of the continuous support on Salted Wounds. I never imagined I would ever receive this much support during a wip, and it means the world to me. I always look forward to reading your comments and hearing your thoughts on the chapters. Much love to you all <3

After the feast on Halloween night, Draco found himself back in his living quarters, frowning at his reflection. While he approved of the deep red robes he was donning, the satin top hat and charmed vampire fangs were a bit much for his liking.

He sighed. As a child, he had never been allowed to dress up on Halloween. _Why pretend to be someone you’re not_ , his mother had always said, and Draco had taken it to heart, coming to see Halloween as a day where people who came from not as esteemed backgrounds could choose to be someone else.

Clearly, that was no longer the case.

In fact, he hadn’t properly thought about Halloween in years, having been so occupied with taking care of his mother. As he faced the mirror, he couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh. How things had changed.

He was now dressing up for Harry, for starters. Draco closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He liked Harry. He did. And that was a hard pill to swallow. There was no denying that he had come to enjoy ─ look forward to, even ─ Harry’s company. They had somehow fallen into a comfortable rhythm with each other, pushing and prodding each other’s buttons without really meaning it. Teaching with him was also something that seemingly came naturally, no matter how much he hated to admit it.

The more Draco thought about it, the more uneasy he became. He wasn’t supposed to like Harry. Hell, he wasn’t supposed to like Neville. Teaching had never been about redeeming himself and making new friends. He had only come back to Hogwarts with the intention to teach a new generation of students ─ that was it. However, he had seemingly gotten much more.

“This is so fucking stupid,” Draco muttered to himself, adjusting his top hat before leaving his living quarters.

As he headed towards the front gate, swiftly avoiding students along the way, he couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in his stomach.

Exiting through the front doors of the castle, Draco stepped out into the evening air and took a deep breath. Above him, pale stars were twinkling against the rippling black sky. The first quarter moon sat high in the sky, only providing a sliver of light through the darkness of night.

With a sigh, he wandered towards the front gate.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait too long. He could hear Harry’s voice before he saw him, his laughter echoing in the quiet.

As Harry and Neville approached, both waving enthusiastically, Draco could see a large, pointed rainbow horn sitting atop Harry’s mop of messy curls. Otherwise, he looked perfectly the same ─ navy robes and plaid grey chinos. As for Neville, he was a different story. He looked the spitting image of a Mandrake in a pot, and not in a good way.

“Hey, Malfoy!” Neville said, grinning.

Draco grimaced. “Longbottom, I do believe you’ve rendered me speechless.”

At that, Harry let out a bark of laughter, clasping Draco on the shoulder. “I told him the same thing.”

“Oi, would you two lay off it? This was the best I could do in a pinch,” Neville said, his cheeks red.

Draco snorted before turning to Harry. “And Potter, where the hell did you manage to find such a … horn?”

Up close, he could see that strips of light blue tulle, as well as copious amounts of sparkles, were attached to the headband portion of the horn, leaving Harry looking like a unicorn bride.

“Jenny Walker put it together for me. Isn’t it neat?” Harry asked, beaming.

“Absolutely charming,” Draco said flatly.

“By the way, nice top hat. Really goes well with the vampire fangs,” Harry said, smirking.

Draco rolled his eyes and shoved him lightly in the shoulder. “Fuck off.”

“Alright, lads,” Neville said, interrupting, “let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

“Oh, I suppose,” Draco sighed.

After they stepped outside of the front gates, the three of them linked arms, Draco in the middle, and Apparated. When the ground returned beneath Draco’s feet and they were no longer spinning, he leaned over, panting as his stomach attempted to settle.

“Alright there?” Harry asked.

“Fine,” Draco croaked, slowly straightening up.

After a minute of soft, shallow breathing, Draco gestured that it was fine to go, and the three of them began walking down the busy cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade. All around them were witches and wizards in costumes, most of them with a drink in hand, wandering about the village. Glowing pumpkins were levitated along the road, providing both light and decoration, and loud in-theme music echoed from various different shops.

When they reached the Three Broomsticks, Draco hardly recognized the small inn and pub. The downstairs area had been completely redone into a dancefloor, which was packed people grinding on each other. It was pitch black, bar the neon strobe lights streaming across the darkness. The Weird Sisters’ latest album was being blasted through speakers, the vibration of low beats thrumming against Draco’s body.

“Alright. Come on, give me your drink orders,” Neville said.

“I think I’m in the mood for Firewhiskey,” Draco said.

Harry nodded. “Same.”

“Two Firewhiskeys, coming right up,” Neville said, giving them a small wave before disappearing into the crowd.

“Want to dance?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. “Sure.”

As soon as Draco said yes, he was being dragged by Harry to the dancefloor. Around them, sweaty bodies were pressed up against one another, moving with the music.

“Come on, Malfoy. It’s only me,” Harry said, grinning.

Draco, who was standing stiffly, snorted. “Exactly. How am I supposed to dance in front of my arch nemesis?”

Harry let out a bark of laughter. “ _Former_ arch nemesis, thank you very much. Did you ever think you’d be on a dancefloor with me?”

“I think my eleven-year-old self would be horrified.”

“Same.”

Draco grimaced as he watched Harry begin moving to the music, shimmying in a way that made him cringe.

“Merlin and Morgana, Potter, stop dancing like that. You’re giving me second-hand embarrassment,” Draco said, frowning.

“Liar. You love it,” Harry said, a lopsided smile plastered on his face.

Just as Draco thought it couldn’t get any worse, Harry grabbed his hands, pulling his arms forward. He began to sidestep, dragging Draco with him as he swung their arms to the thrum of the music. Then, Harry lifted their intertwined hands up, taking the opportunity to turn the both of them around.

“Clearly you learned nothing from the Yule Ball dancing lessons,” Draco huffed as they returned back to their original position.

Harry laughed lightly. “ _You_ try learning ballroom dancing from Minerva.”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “I see your point.”

They continued to dance awkwardly together, Harry leading Draco in obscene movements. As they moved together, Draco found himself laughing harder than he had in quite some time, and he could see Harry’s eyes light up at the sound of it. For the first time, he realized that perhaps Harry wasn’t quite so bad, and maybe ─ _just maybe_ ─ they could be friends.

Watching Harry, Draco realized that he was experiencing the same sensation he had felt the last time they had been at the Three Broomsticks. Alone with Harry, he felt as though the world had stilled, and there was only them.

Several minutes later, a flushed Neville appeared. He made his way through the crowd and to the edge of the dancefloor, clumsily armed with drinks. Fake leaves stemming from his Mandrake costume smacked other customers, many of which frowned at him. Draco pulled a face as he watched him, wondering how a single person could possess so much gawkiness.

Neville gestured for the two of them to leave the dancefloor, as drinks weren’t permitted in that area. Harry led the way, pushing through the clusters of tipsy people. Just as they were about to step off of the dancefloor, a young witch grabbed Harry’s sleeve.

“You’re Harry Potter, aren’t you? Girls, look! It’s Harry Potter!” the witch shouted, beckoning her friends to come over.

Draco watched as Harry shrunk, visibly becoming uncomfortable.

“Sorry, you’ve got the wrong man,” Draco said, hastily pulling Harry by his wrist before any of the witches could get to him.

Unfortunately, this didn’t deter the group of women, and they continued to follow them. As they shouted after Harry, Draco realized that the group of girls were drawing an unwanted amount of attention. Pretty soon, the majority of the customers on the dancefloor were rushing after Harry.

“Neville, put the drinks down! We need to get out of here!” Draco shouted, tugging Harry along.

Neville, eyes wide at the sheer amount of people barreling towards him, set the drinks on the floor before making a beeline for the door. Draco and Harry weren’t far off, pushing through the Three Broomsticks’ front door in the nick of time.

“Side-Along!” Harry yelled, and Draco and Neville nodded.

As Harry touched Draco’s arm, the ground disappeared beneath him. They twisted through the air, and he could feel his stomach churning, squeezing his eyes shut. Just as he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the ground reappeared beneath him.

Looking around, Draco realized that they were back outside the front gates of Hogwarts. Next to him, Neville was panting from the effects of Disapparating, and Harry looked paler than usual.

“I don’t understand,” Draco began. “Why weren’t you recognized the last time we were at the Three Broomsticks?”

“Probably because there weren’t as many people,” Harry said, shrugging. “It's like this the majority of the time, though. I should've known to cover my scar. It was stupid of me. I’m so sorry for ruining the night.”

“You didn’t ruin the night, Harry! In fact, I know of something we can do,” Neville said, grinning.

☙☙☙

“Kudos to you, Longbottom. This was actually a splendid idea,” Draco said.

They were standing outside of the Great Hall, laughter coming from within. Draco could feel a warmth spreading through his chest at the sound, eagerly anticipating what was next.

“I _am_ capable of good ideas. I’m not sure how far along the kids are in the costume contest, but I suppose we’ll find out,” Neville said.

Harry was the one to push the doors open. Draco was immediately met with the sight of the entire student body, all of them sitting at their respective house tables. However, a few were standing in a line towards the front. And, sitting at the staff table were several of their fellow professors, including Hagrid, Flitwick, and McGonagall. Draco grinned as he took it in, every single student dressed in some chaotic costume.

As soon as the students realized Draco, Harry, and Neville were standing at the entrance, the hall went quiet.

“Professors?” Nisha Punj, a fifth year Ravenclaw, asked, her voice echoing across the silent hall.

“Have room for a few more judges?” Harry asked.

Suddenly, the hall broke out into cheers and applause. As they made their way to the staff table, Draco couldn’t help but feel important. Loved.

Three spots happened to be available in between Flitwick and McGonagall. Harry sat next to Flitwick, and Neville took the seat in between, leaving Draco to sit next to McGonagall.

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy. Kind of you to join us,” she said warmly.

“Happy to be here,” Draco said, offering her a small smile.

McGonagall returned it before focusing her attention back on the crowd of students. “Now, would the next three students line up?”

Dracon watched as Felix Thomas, Nina Johnson, and Rachel Gross replaced the three students that had previously been lined up in front of the staff room. As soon as Draco saw Felix, he let out a chuckle. The third year Slytherin was dressed as a Hinkypunk, his scrawny legs bound together to give the illusion of one, and he was painted blue. In his right hand was a flickering lantern. He looked quite the sight.

On the other hand, Rachel looked ethereal as a fae, and Nina’s Quidditch costume fit her fiery personality quite well.

“Yer costume looks great, Nina!” Hagrid said, beaming. “An’ you too, Felix and Rachel! Clever costumes, those are.”

“I agree. Excellent, all three of you,” McGonagall said. “You receive all tens from me.”

“Same here,” Draco said, shaking his head in amusement.

Felix shot him a cheeky grin.

“Ten for you three!” Harry said.

Neville agreed, as did Professor Flitwick and Hagrid.

As the next three students took Felix, Nina, and Rachel’s places, Draco leaned over to McGonagall.

“So, are we essentially giving everyone a ten?” he asked.

McGonagall looked at him, her eyes shining brightly behind her glasses. “Precisely.”

Draco nodded, smiling as he turned his attention back to the students at hand. Next to him, Neville was gushing over Amelia Barnes’ Whomping Willow costume. Draco had to admit that it was scarily realistic.

As the contest wore on, Draco looked over to Harry several times. Of course, it was only when Draco took to adjusting his vampire fangs that Harry decided to look back. Draco took his hands out of his mouth as quickly as possible, blushing as he shot Harry a grin. Harry, in return, gave him a thumbs up.

Although the Three Broomsticks hadn’t worked out and the costume contest was fairly simple, Draco found himself thinking that this was, perhaps, the best Halloween he’d ever had.


	17. Leaping Toadstools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am *so* sorry for not uploading in such a long time. I've been working nonstop on a fest fic that's due in a few days, and I've finally managed to finish it. Yay! Hopefully my uploading will become a lot more regular, as I've also planned out ten chapters ahead. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!

The following Wednesday evening, Draco found himself perched in the Quidditch stands, planning out his next lesson for the duelling club as he watched the Hufflepuff team practice. Surprisingly, they looked to be fairly decent, and Draco couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope that they’d beat Gryffindor in the upcoming game.

As the sun began to set, neon orange light cast across the clear autumn sky, Draco cast _Lumos_ and set his wand next to him on the bench. Despite the fact that it was growing dark, he felt no desire to go back to the castle. The crisp air felt nice against his skin, as did the cool breeze rolling across the grounds. There was something incredibly nostalgic about the way the air smelled during the autumn, like damp earth and warm spices coming from the direction of the kitchen.

He looked down at his notes, somewhat pleased with the progress he’d managed to make in such a short amount of time. While he had yet to plan for the third years, he knew he wanted to teach the first years how to produce the Smokescreen Spell. Although this was part of their curriculum anyway, Draco had decided that he wanted to go in depth, hoping to give them a more rounded explanation and understanding than they would normally receive with just the instruction in their DADA class.

A whooping sound broke his train of thought, and he glanced up from his notes. Down on the pitch, the Hufflepuff captain, a kid named Rachel White, was grinning ear to ear as she embraced the Seeker, Fatima Abboud.

“That’s what I’m _talking_ about, everyone!” Rachel yelled as the team formed a tight-knit circle. “See how fearless Fatima was when going for the Snitch? That’s what we’re going for! Anyway, you all did a great job and deserve some rest. You’re dismissed.”

Draco smiled at the fierce determination in Rachel’s voice, reminding him of his own days playing Quidditch.

By the time the players had scattered, night had completely swept over the grounds, encompassing everything in deep shadows. Draco let out a heavy sigh, supposing he ought to head back to the castle. As he began to pack his things, something hit him on the side of his head.

“ _What the_ ―” he began, turning to see what it was.

Sitting next to his wand on the bench was a paper airplane. Draco frowned, wondering where the hell it had come from as he picked it up and began to unfold it.

There, he saw Harry’s messy handwriting scrawled across the page.

_Malfoy,_

_Neville needs help searching for Leaping Toadstools for tomorrow’s lesson. Up to the task? Meet us on the hill that leads down to Hagrid’s Hut ASAP._

_HP_

Suddenly, the memory of sending Harry a paper crane in third year flashed before Draco’s eyes, and he let out a soft chuckle. Back then, he never would have imagined that Harry would be sending something back years later under completely different circumstances.

He glanced down at his watch and hastily finished packing before dashing down the stairs and away from the pitch. The walk to the hill was fairly short, although it was a bit chilly, and Draco silently cursed himself for failing to wear heavier robes. As he approached the two silhouetted men in the distance, their bodies black against the glow of the moon, he cast a warming spell over himself and immediately felt a wave of relief.

“Malfoy!” Neville said, grinning as he absently swung a basket back and forth. “Glad you could make it.”

Draco quickly glanced at Harry, giving him a quick nod in greeting, before saying, “well, Merlin knows you two would make a botch up job of catching the Leaping Toadstools.”

“Oi!” Harry said, lightly elbowing Draco in his side. “We would do no such thing.”

Neville snorted. “No, Harry, _you_ certainly would.”

“Right. Well, let’s get started, shall we? I’d ideally like to be back before midnight,” Draco said, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

“Okay, fellas. This way,” Neville said, beginning to trudge down the muddy hill.

Draco and Harry followed, falling into step alongside each other. In the distance, Draco watched the billows of smoke coming from Hagrid’s chimney dissolve in the wind. The giant pumpkins in his patch had been replaced with large rhubarb plants, their deep green leaves falling in delicate layers across the soil.

Once they reached the edge of the forest, Draco expected Neville to turn around and give them instructions. However, he simply continued to trudge along. As they entered the forest, the soft glow of the moonlight quickly disappeared behind the thick branches of the pine trees. Barring the soft white light coming from their wands, they were surrounded by complete darkness.

“So,” Neville began once they were a decent way into the forest, “the Leaping Toadstools are found at the edge of the pond. Not too much farther, boys.”

“Sounds good,” Harry said.

“What year are you collecting these for?” Draco asked.

“Second. It should be a hoot watching them try to keep hold of the toadstools tomorrow,” Neville said.

“How many are we going to need to collect?” Harry asked.

“Well, I’ve only got twenty students, but I’d like to grab twenty-five in case some of the toadstools decide to go rogue.”

Draco snorted. He certainly wasn’t jealous of Neville’s second years.

After ten more minutes of walking, they finally reached a clearing. In the middle of it sat a wide pond, a few meek slivers of silver moonlight shining on the surface of the smooth water. Ankle-high grass began at the banks of the water, and Draco could vaguely make out the red mushroom tops of the Leaping Toadstools. He let out a soft sigh as he took in the scenery, having always held a fondness for the way the world looked after sundown.

“Okay, Nev. I know we learned how to catch them back in the day, but my memory of herbology has absolutely gone to shit. How exactly are we supposed to do this?” Harry asked, hands on his hips as he surveyed the surroundings.

“The key is to be really quiet ― no sudden movements, either. As soon as you’re within reach of the toadstool, you’ll need to wrap both hands around the base as quickly as possible and pull it out of the ground. If it manages to detach its roots by itself and is able to hope away, well … good luck. Once you’ve got one, place it in the basket. I’ve charmed it so that they won’t be able to get out once they’re in,” Neville said, gesturing to the basket that he’d placed on the ground.

Draco frowned. This didn’t seem like it was going to be particularly easy.

Without another word, Neville turned around and began to move slowly throughout the grass. Draco glanced over at Harry, who shrugged at him. They both watched Neville with intent as he crept forward, silently approaching an especially large Leaping Toadstool at the edge of the grass. Before Draco knew it, Neville’s hands had gripped the base and were pulling the roots out. He held the squirming toadstool up in triumph, a toothy grin spread across his face, before placing it in the basket.

“Right, men. One down, twenty-four to go,” Neville said.

“ _Lovely_ ,” Draco muttered under his breath.

Then, the three of them parted. Draco wandered closer to the area where the grass met the line of trees, his eyes searching for any speckles of red. After a moment, he was able to spot one. Trying to follow what Neville had done, he quietly moved closer. Once he was sure that he was close enough, he reached out, his hands meeting the base of the toadstool. Pulling it out of the ground, he felt a rush of accomplishment.

“Got one!” he said, walking towards the basket.

Neville looked up from where he was, giving him a thumbs-up and a smile.

“Hey, great job,” Harry said, grinning.

Draco couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks, Potter.”

They continued to collect the Leaping Toadstools for another forty minutes, slowly filling up the basket. As soon as they’d reached twenty-four, Neville broke the silence.

“Okay, lads. How about a bet? Whoever catches this last one is owed a drink from the other two,” he said.

“I think that’s fair,” Harry said, smirking.

Draco arched an eyebrow. “There’s no way you’re getting this, Potter.”

“Oh, yeah? It’s _on,_ ” Harry said, narrowing his eyes.

“Okay, go!” Neville said before stalking off in the other direction.

Draco darted to the left, his eyes catching on a toadstool. He held his breath as he began to approach it, careful not to make a sound. He grinned, slowly extending his arms. He was going to win this thing.

Just as he was about to grab the base of the toadstool, he heard a loud grunt. Turning around, he saw Harry leap forward, face planting as he narrowly missed a toadstool. As the toadstool quickly leapt in the direction of Draco, Harry scrambled to his feet, chasing after it.

“Fuck, Potter, _watch out!_ ” Draco shouted, wincing as he helplessly watched Harry blindly barreling towards him.

Before he could move, Harry crashed into him, knocking them both onto the ground. All of the air suddenly left Draco’s lungs, leaving him gasping on his back. Harry was sprawled on top of him, his body warm against Draco’s.

Draco looked up and found himself staring into Harry’s deep green eyes. Suddenly, he felt as though he was gasping for air for a different reason. No matter how hard he tried to look away, he found that he simply couldn’t.

“Oi! Harry! Malfoy!” Neville said.

Harry awkwardly cleared his throat, rolling off of Draco. “Yeah, Nev?”

Neville held a toadstool up. “Looks like you bastards owe me a drink.”

Draco took a deep breath, trying to clear the muddled feeling inside his chest, and turned to Harry. “ _Fucking hell,_ Potter. I almost had one!”

“Well, so did I!” Harry said, standing up.

Draco followed, brushing at the mud stains that were now covering his robes. “ _Imbecile_.”

“Hey! Quit it, you two. No one likes a poor sport,” Neville said as he placed the last toadstool into the basket.

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Sorry, Potter.”

“ … I’m sorry too.”

“Right. Glad that’s sorted. Now, let’s head back to the castle, shall we? Winning sure did tucker me out,” Neville said, smirking.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Besides Neville’s humming, the walk back to the castle was relatively quiet. As they exited the forest and trudged past Hagrid’s hut, Draco noticed that there was no longer smoke coming out of the chimney, and all the lights were dimmed. He glanced at his watch, which read half past ten.

Once they stepped into the castle, Draco cleared his throat. “Well, gentlemen, I can say with confidence that I never want to do that again.”

Harry let out a bark of laughter. “Unfortunately, I’m with Malfoy on this one, Nev.”

Neville shrugged. “Your loss.”

“I highly doubt that,” Harry said, grinning. “Okay, well, I’m off to bed. See you both tomorrow.”

“Alright. Goodnight,” Draco said, giving both of them a small wave before walking towards the stairs that led up to the Astronomy tower.

As soon as he entered his living quarters, he brushed his teeth, ripped off his clothes, and collapsed into bed, exhaustion hitting him. Before he knew it, he was slipping into sleep.

That night, he dreamt of Harry’s warmth.


	18. The Clearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I want to apologize for the inconsistency in my chapter lengths! I've gotten a lot better at writing longer chapters, hence these later ones being between 2-3k. Anyway, I'm a sucker for Draco learning how to cast his Patronus, so enjoy!

Three weeks later, Draco found himself exhausted after a particularly intense duelling club meeting, having taught the third years how to stun their opponents, which was not part of any year’s curriculum. While he’d had the students pair up, he also had them take turns practicing on him. Although most of the students took time to get a grasp on how to use the spell, there had been a handful of kids who had gotten it immediately, sending Draco onto his back time after time.

Now, as he unlocked the door to his living quarters, having limped back to his room, he wanted nothing more than to settle into bed with a book. After lazily flicking on the small lamp on his nightstand, he began to peel off his robes and change into his flannel pajamas. The night was cold and damp, a soft patter of rain falling over the grounds of Hogwarts as he cast a warming charm on his duvet and sheets. Climbing into bed, he let out a heavy sigh, relaxing into the coziness as he propped himself against the headboard.

He grabbed his book off of the nightstand, watching as the amber light from the lamp hit the golden embossed title on the spine, glimmering. With lesson planning for both Potions and the duelling club, as well as correcting homework, he hadn’t had much time to read lately. Thankfully, Draco knew the book like the back of his hand, having read it at least three times, so it didn’t require much concentration.

However, once he started reading, his mind turned to the third years who were part of the club. He, Harry, and Neville had all agreed to teach their students something fun for the last duelling club of the year, which was only a month out. Although Draco knew that he wanted to teach his first years how to do the _Knockback Jinx,_ he only had half of a formed idea for the third years, and it would have to involve Harry.

Draco set his book down, having realized that he’d read the same paragraph for the last five minutes, and sighed.

He had never learned how to produce a _Patronus_ , something he was mildly ashamed of. It wasn’t that he didn’t have happy memories. In fact, before sixth year, his life had consisted of being loved and spoiled by his parents. However, the more he thought about it, the more those memories became distorted, the imagine of Voldemort roaming the grounds of Malfoy Manor burned into his mind.

He would simply have to think of something else.

Letting out a heavy breath, Draco realized that the only way he would be able to pull off teaching the _Patronus_ _Charm_ to his third years would be to learn it himself, leaving him with the option of either going to Harry or Neville for help. After a few minutes of mulling it over, he promptly decided that he would ask Harry to help him, reasoning that he had been the one to teach Dumbledore’s Army, afterall.

By the time he was tired enough to fall asleep, he had turned over the thought of being taught by Harry over and over again. As he put his book back on the nightstand, turned off the lamp, and nestled underneath the covers, he realized just how nervous the idea made him. He knew he had a pride problem that stemmed back to his childhood, and the idea of screwing up in front of Harry caused a wave of nausea to roll over him.

 _You’ll just have to suck it up, you great git_ , Draco thought to himself as he closed his eyes.

☙☙☙

The next day, Draco found himself pacing the length of the empty corridor outside of Harry’s office, a flutter of nerves landing in his stomach. Thankfully, everyone was at lunch in the Great Hall, leaving him to panic in peace.

He knew that Harry stayed in his office during lunch on Fridays in order to get a headstart on correcting homework, meaning that there was absolutely no chance of missing him and therefore putting off his proposal, which didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

After five more minutes of debating whether or not to knock on the door, he paused his pacing, realizing that waiting would only make things worse, no matter how tempting it was.

Before he could change his mind, he knocked.

A moment passed before Harry opened the door, grinning once he realized it was Draco.

“Hey. Everything alright?” he asked.

Draco nodded. “Fine. I just came here to ask a question.”

“Alright,” Harry said, gesturing for Draco to follow him into his office, “come on in.”

Draco stepped inside and immediately grimaced. Harry’s desk was covered in stacks of loose parchment, and there were ringed stains from old cups of coffee or tea. Draco had never pictured Harry to be a slob, although he clearly needed to rethink that.

As they both took a seat, Draco felt like he was going to be sick.

“So,” Harry said, “what can I do for you?”

Draco swallowed thickly. “You know how we’re giving special lessons for the final meeting of the year?”

“Sure.”

“Well … I have something in mind, but I’m going to need help with it,” Draco said, fidgeting with the hem of his robes ― a habit his mother had long tried to break.

“Okay. What is it?” Harry asked.

Draco took a deep breath. “A _Patronus_.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “A _Patronus_?”

“Yes,” Draco said, rolling his eyes, “a _Patronus_. I … never had the opportunity to learn it, but I would love to teach my third years how to produce one.”

“So, you want me to teach you?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded. “Precisely.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Sure, I’d be happy to help, Malfoy. What exactly do you have in mind?”

“I’m not entirely sure, to be quite honest. I was thinking we could have a lesson once or twice a week in order to assure that I’ve got it down before our last meeting,” Draco said.

“Sounds good. I think that’ll give you plenty of time. How about we start this afternoon, since you’re visiting your mum tonight? We could meet at the edge of the Forbidden Forest after our last lessons of the day,” Harry said.

“Oh. Alright. Well, thank you,” Draco said.

Harry grinned. “Of course. I’m happy to help. Plus, I’ll admit that I’m curious as to what your _Patronus_ is going to be. A ferret, perhaps?”

Draco could feel heat rising to his cheeks at the mention of his _ferret incident_ from fourth year.

He frowned, crossing his arms. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, Potter.”

Harry snorted, a cheeky glint in his eye. “Sure, Malfoy.”

Draco huffed. “Right, well … I’ll see you this afternoon.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned around. Just as he was about to exit the door, he heard Harry.

“Wait!” he called after him.

Draco turned around, an eyebrow arched. “Yes?”

“I ―” Harry began, his face softening, “― well, I just want to thank you for coming to me for help.”

Something sent a wave of flutters through Draco’s stomach. “Well, I certainly wasn’t going to ask Longbottom.”

With that, he gave a curt nod and walked out the door. As he headed to the Great Hall, having promised McGonagall that he would catch her up on the success of the duelling club, he smiled to himself.

Finally, he was going to learn how to produce a _Patronus_.

☙☙☙

“Alright, everyone,” Draco said, turning to his class of sixth year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, “I expect your essays on Everlasting Elixirs on my desk by Monday. I hope you all have a lovely weekend. Class dismissed.”

As his last class of the day began to filter out of the room, Draco checked his watch, which read 3:15. He sighed as he began to pack his satchel, nerves beginning to hit him. He had no idea what the lesson with Harry was going to bring, adding to his unrest.

Once the classroom had been emptied, he did a quick _Scourgify_ over the lab tables before heading out the door. Weaving his way through students who were bustling with the excitement of the weekend, he navigated his way up to the Great Hall and out of the front entrance.

The sky was a pale gold, sunset rapidly approaching, and the air was still sweet from the prior night’s downpour of rain. As Draco wandered towards Hagrid’s Hut, he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck. There was a fierce bite to the wind that was rolling over the grounds, rustling the branches of the pines in the distance.

As he approached the hut, he could spot Harry milling about, taking a look at Hagrid’s garden.

“Hey,” Draco said once he had reached Harry.

“Hi. Ready?” Harry asked, grinning.

“I suppose so,” Draco said as they began their walk into the forest.

“So, do you have any idea of what your _Patronus_ is going to be?” Harry asked.

“I have no idea,” Draco said, shrugging.

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough.”

They eventually made their way to a clearing, several holly trees lining the perimeter. Soft beams of sunlight were streaming through the leaves of the trees, creating bokeh patterns across the tall grass that covered the meadow.

Draco set down his satchel on the ground, and Harry did the same.

“Alright,” Harry said. “Ready to start?”

Hesitantly, Draco nodded.

“Okay. First thing you’re going to want to do is think of the happiest memory you can remember ― something that fills you with complete and utter joy and spreads warmth throughout your body. Close your eyes if you need to,” Harry said.

“Okay. Right. I can do that,” Draco murmured, letting his eyes fall shut.

The first thing that came to mind was his first day of Hogwarts, excitement having filled every inch of his small body. At the platform, his father had taken Draco’s face in his hands, looking at him intently.

_“Remember, Draco,” his father had said, “you are a Malfoy. Do not disappoint me.”_

Draco shuddered at his father’s words, quickly dismissing the memory.

He spent the next few minutes racking his brain for a memory that would work. Just as he was about to give up, it suddenly hit him.

Thinking about it, nothing had made him happier than the first duelling club lesson. There had been something so magical about the way that his first and third years looked at him, hanging onto his every word as he had taught them how to cast green sparks and the freezing spell. It had been a rush of adrenaline, knowing that he was right where he belonged. He’d never felt more at home.

Then, there had been the glance towards Harry from across the room. He remembered the bright smile on Harry’s face as he gave him a thumbs up, the look of sheer joy painted across his face.

“Okay,” Draco said, opening his eyes. “I’ve got one.”

Harry nodded. “Good. So, take out your wand.”

Draco did just that, leaning into the magic thrumming through the core.

“Now, you’re going to want to move your wand in a spiral, just like so,” Harry said, demonstrating the wand movement.

Draco nodded. “And the incantation is _Expecto Patronum_ , correct?”

“Yep. So, when you cast the charm, you’re going to need to hold onto your happy memory. No matter what, don’t let it slip away. Are you ready to give it a go?” Harry asked.

“I think so,” Draco said.

“Okay. Go on, then.”

Hesitantly, Draco raised his wand into the air, concentrating on the memory of the duelling club.

After a moment of focusing on the memory, he yelled, “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

Silver sparks fizzled at the end of his wand, and his shoulders sagged, feeling deflated. He knew, of course, that the likelihood of him having succeeded on the first try had been next to impossible, but it was still a disappointment.

“Hey, that’s okay. I didn’t get it on my first try, either,” Harry said, giving him a warm smile.

“Need I remind you that you were a _third year_ and I’m a _twenty-five_ year old man?” Draco asked sarcastically, although there was no malice in his voice.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Not the point. Anyway, go again.”

With a sigh, Draco once again raised his wand into the air.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!”

This time, a silver stream of light spilled out of the tip of his wand, falling half a foot in front of him.

“Better. Much better,” Harry said, clapping him on the back.

The warmth of his hand was comforting against Draco’s cold body.

Moving his wand in a spiral motion, he sighed. This was going to be a long process.


	19. A Letter to Ron and Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, I am so sorry for not posting in a month. Time has gotten away from me! I'm going to try to upload around once a week from here on out, as I'm eager to give you all the ending that I've planned!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading <3

Early December brought with it a flurry of snow and frost. The Great Lake had frozen over, and Draco was often able to spot the same group of first years gliding across the glassy surface with their wands lit up every evening after dinner. There was a magical air about the grounds of Hogwarts, and everyone seemed to be a bit cheerier than usual. Hagrid’s garden was overflowing with purple ranunculus bulbs and bright yellow winter pansies, reminding him of a friendship that had long been forgotten.

The castle itself was in the process of being decorated. On the 10th of December, Hagrid could be seen dragging in a rather large pine tree taken from the Forbidden Forest and setting it up in the corner of the Great Hall. Garlands were strung along the walls of the corridors, the ropes of pines decorated with the occasional bright red bow and bursts of holly, and levitating dreidels and Christmas presents donned the corners of each classroom.

It was everything that Draco had gone without for so many years, the warmth of the castle swelling inside his chest every time he woke up. Christmas at the Manor had turned dark and gloomy after the war. In the beginning, his mother had tried her best to fill the holidays with happiness, but heartbreak eventually took over. For the past few years, Draco had spent his Christmases spoon-feeding his mother as her hollow eyes stared at nothing in particular. And although he had plans to visit his mother on Christmas Eve, he had decided that he would be spending the Christmas holidays at Hogwarts. There was the occasional bout of guilt, but he tried to remind himself that he deserved to be happy.

On the 11th of December, Draco found himself sitting at the desk in his office, feet kicked up and daydreaming about the Yorkshire pudding that was bound to be made for the Christmas feast. He had finished grading the sixth years’ notes that they’d taken while brewing Amortentia, which he’d found rather amusing. There had been some oddly specific smells, such as spearmint shampoo, quill ink, the cobblestones leading up to the castle, milk, and overly strong black tea. The uniqueness that was brought by each student hadn’t failed to amaze him, and it made him think of his own scents.

As Draco wondered how many students would be staying at Hogwarts over the holidays, he heard a soft knock on his door and hastily took his feet off of the desk. No one needed to know that habit of his.

“It’s open,” he said, sitting straight in his chair and adjusting his deep purple robes.

Harry opened the door, a lopsided smile on his face as he took a seat on the other side of Draco’s desk. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Alright. I just finished grading brewing notes on Amortentia,” Draco said.

“Oh? How was it?” Harry asked.

Draco snorted. “Entertaining, to say the least. I don’t remember our year having such peculiar scents.”

Harry let out a soft laugh. “Well, Hermione could smell freshly cut grass, new parchment, and spearmint toothpaste.”

“Interesting,” Draco said, shaking his head in amusement.

“What’s yours?” Harry asked.

Draco, taken aback, raised his eyebrows. “The Quidditch pitch on an early autumn morning, treacle tart, and pine. You?”

Harry cocked his head, giving Draco a curious look. “Orange soap, a freshly waxed broomstick handle, and smoke from the Hogwarts Express.”

A brief silence fell over them, and Draco found himself looking anywhere but at Harry. He suddenly felt a wave of self consciousness washing over him, worried that perhaps Harry thought his scents to be odd.

Harry cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I actually came here to ask you something.”

Draco looked up. “Oh. Alright.”

“Well, with your mum in St. Mungo’s this year, I was wondering if you wanted to spend Christmas with me at The Burrow ― if you don’t already have plans, that is. No one deserves to spend Christmas alone,” Harry said.

Draco swallowed thickly, wondering if he’d heard Harry correctly. “You want to spend Christmas with me?”

Harry smiled softly. “Yeah, I do.”

Despite the fuzzy feeling that was growing inside Draco’s chest, he couldn’t help but feel a flush of shame. “What about Granger and Weasley? I doubt they’d be as enthusiastic.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So, about that. I’ve already asked them if it’s alright. Ron had a bit of a conniption, so it’ll take some convincing, but I know that I can get them on board since they already know we’re friends. However, I know an apology from you would mean a lot to them.”

Draco’s stomach flipped at Harry calling him a friend. “ … Alright, Potter. I can send apology letters off when I go back to my quarters.”

“Sounds good. And by the way, I think it’s time we ought to call each other by our given names,” Harry said, grinning.

“Feeling the urge to break tradition, are you?” Draco asked.

“Well, we _are_ grown up, after all.”

Draco let out a soft laugh. “I suppose we are.”

Harry stood up, wandering towards the door. "Well, dinner’s about to start, and I promised McGonagall I’d talk with her about castle decorations. Are you staying here for dinner?”

“No, I’ll be going to the Great Hall. I just need to organize some things and then I’ll be up,” Draco said.

“Alright. Well, see you soon, _Draco_ ,” Harry said, grinning.

Draco rolled his eyes, although he returned the smile. “Bye, Harry.”

☙☙☙

Two hours later, Draco found himself staring at a stack of blank parchment. He’d been trying to muster up the courage to press his quill to the paper for the past thirty minutes, and yet he couldn’t manage to do so.

It wasn’t until he remembered that Harry had talked about him to Ron and Hermione that he felt a small amount of relief. With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly began to write, reminding himself to use their given names.

_Hermione and Ron,_

_Harry has asked me this evening if I’d like to spend Christmas at The Burrow. I’m aware that he’s already asked you two, and I’m also aware that he's determined to do some persuading. I truly wouldn’t blame you if you would rather I didn’t come. Please don’t feel as though you need to say yes. Christmas is such a special time, and I don’t want to intrude on any family celebrations going on._

_However, I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to you both. There’s no excuse for how I treated you, and I deeply regret my words and actions._

_Hermione, I apologize for calling you a racial slur and discriminating against you because of your background. I was raised to believe that Purebloods are superior, and looking back I’m able to see how absolutely wrong my family’s philosophy was. I wish I could take back every cruel thing I said and did, but I know that I can’t. I also know that my words can’t fix the past, and you reserve every right to disregard everything I’m saying. Please just know that I’m writing with sincerity._

_Ron, I am so sorry for tormenting you throughout our years at Hogwarts. I was a true bully, and it’s difficult to fathom how cruel I was. I’ve been fortunate enough to learn over the years that descending from wealth means nothing when it comes to how good of a person someone is, and I apologize for projecting my prejudices onto you. Truth be told, I was always jealous of how close-knit your family is. You, your parents, and your siblings have something so genuine and irreplaceable, and I longed for the same. I still do, I suppose. Please know that there’s no expectation of forgiveness on your part._

_I hope this letter finds you both well._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_


	20. The Final Lesson of the Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sitting on the idea for this chapter for at least a month, and it felt so good to finally write it! My wife came up with the idea of Draco's Patronus, so all credit goes to her <3

_Draco,_

_Yes, Harry did inform us of his plans to invite you to Christmas at The Burrow. He’s also mentioned how you two have seemingly become friends, which has given us a lot to think about._

_First and foremost, thank you for your letter. Although difficult to read, it was much appreciated. From what Harry has told us, it would seem that you’ve grown a lot within the past eight years ― we all have, I suppose. I’ll admit that the idea of starting over is more appealing than I ever thought it would be. When I think about the future I want for Rose and Hugo, our children, I can’t help but long for friendship, house unity, and understanding of the past without judgement, and I believe this starts with forgiveness._

_So, Draco, with much discussion between Ron and myself, we have decided to forgive you for your mistakes. Time and distance has certainly helped, and we’re both now able to see that you were a child when all of this happened ― not that it’s an excuse, of course. However, it has given your actions much more context, and we realize that you were caught in the middle of a situation that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy._

_This being said, I’m going to make it very clear that this is going to take time. I know Ron (who’s leaning over my shoulder as I write) is incredibly hesitant about this situation, and I’m also going into this with caution. I want you to know that we will not tolerate any sort of hate, prejudice, racial slurs, or Pure-blood supremacy, especially around our children. If you so much as sneeze in the wrong direction, I will not hesitate to ask you to leave. You’re correct in saying that Christmas is a time to celebrate with friends and family, and none of us are going to put up with things that disrupt this special time._

_Harry generally comes over to The Burrow on Christmas Eve, and he typically stays until the 27th. You’re welcome to do the same, although it’s likely that you and Harry will be put up in the living room with sleeping bags. It’s going to be a full house, as all of Ron’s siblings and their spouses, as well as Andromeda and Teddy will be there. Please be prepared for loud noises and messy children._

_I also understand that your mother is quite ill, and Ron and I would like to offer our condolences. Both of my parents passed away shortly after the war due to very rare early-onset dementia caused by a memory charm, so I understand how difficult it is to grapple loss. I know you and your mother have always been close. If there’s anything we can do, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I have some connections at St. Mungo’s._

_Keep well,_

_Hermione and Ron Weasley-Granger_

Draco stared at the letter in his trembling hands, waves of adrenaline washing over him. He hadn’t expected forgiveness from Hermione and Ron, let alone a letter in response, and he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to cry or laugh with relief.

Setting the letter down on the desk in his living quarters, he let out a heavy sigh and looked out onto the Forbidden Forest. The evening had long gone dark, a pale moon pinned up against an amethyst sky and bright stars twinkling every few seconds. Looking around, he could see plumes of smoke from Hagrid’s chimney rising in the distance, and the sound of creatures rustling on the floor of the Forbidden Forest filled the air. Draco had always found something magical about winter night skies; everything seemed clearer than usual in the crisp air.

Reluctantly turning away, Draco unhooked his satchel strap from his shoulder and set it down on his bed. Checking his watch, he realized he only had a few minutes before the last duelling club meeting of the year began, and he would need to hurry if he wanted to make it on time.

Making sure he had his wand in his robe sleeve, Draco darted out of his living quarters and locked the door with haste before hurrying down the corridors and towards the Room or Requirement. Only a few students were out, namely prefects, and he thankfully only found himself murmuring quick hellos a few times before he made it to the seventh floor.

After pacing in front of the wall three times, a door appeared and he stepped inside. Students were already sectioned off into their groups by year, and Harry and Neville were talking animatedly to each other at the front pf the room. Draco wandered towards them, nervous flutters ripping through him. He’d only managed to pull off his Patronus a few times, and he wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of messing it up in front of his students.

“Draco!” Harry said, catching sight of him. “We were worried you wouldn’t make it in time.”

Draco grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry about that. Got a bit distracted. It’s a beautiful night out, isn’t it?”

Neville nodded. “It’s stunning. I bet it’d be easy to spot the Leaping Toadstools with this much moonlight.”

As the mention of Leaping Toadstools, Harry threw back his head and groaned. “Merlin, never again.”

“I agree with Harry,” Draco said, snickering.

Neville stared, raising his thick eyebrows. “Since when are you two on a first name basis?”

“It’s a recent development,” Draco said lazily, waving a hand nonchalantly in the air.

“Huh. Well,” Neville said, glancing down at his watch, “we better get started.”

“Sounds good,” Draco said.

Harry cleared his throat, turning towards the clusters of students. “Hello, everyone! Welcome to the last club meeting of the year!” Cheers erupted across the room, and Draco couldn’t help but grin at the excitement that filled the air. “Professor Malfoy, Professor Longbottom, and I would like to thank each and every one of you for taking a chance and signing up for this club. We’ve had an absolute blast teaching you, and it’s been a privilege to see all of you grow. I can say with confidence that we couldn’t be any prouder, and you should be immensely pleased with yourselves. This club has turned out better than any of us could have expected, and it’s all thanks to you,” Harry said.

“I’m going to second everything that Professor Potter said,” Draco beamed. “This has easily been the highlight of my year, and I can’t thank all of you enough for giving me the opportunity to teach you.”

“And with that,” Neville said, sparks flying out of the tip of his wand and into the air, “let the club meeting begin!”

Draco wandered over to his first years and set them up with a Jelly-Legs Jinx lesson. He’d wanted to teach them something fun during the last meeting, and this was the best he’d been able to come up with. He could vividly remember all of the times he’d sent Jelly-Legs Jinxes on Vincent and Greg, which had always caused him to collapse into a fit of giggles.

Once the first years were happily practicing among themselves, Draco wandered over to the third years, all of them bright-eyes with anticipation.

“Alright,” Draco began, ignoring the anxiety that was prodding at him, “I’ve got a very special plan for you lot. Who here has heard of the Patronus Charm?”

Several hands shot into the air, and Draco called on a chubby boy by the name of Randall Skinner. “The Patronus Charm is a defensive spell that protects one’s self from Dementors. The charm produces a silver creature that represents the caster’s own traits and personality, Sir,” Randall said.

“Excellent!” Draco said, grinning. “For this lesson, I’m going to be teaching you the introduction to the Patronus Charm. It’s fairly certain that none of you will get it on the first go, so we’ll be continuing it in the New Year.”

“What’s your Patronus, Professor?” a girl towards the back asked.

Draco let out a shaky breath. “Well, why don’t I show you?”

As the third years let out whoops and cheers, Draco took in a slow inhale in an attempt to steady himself. He recalled everything he’d learned during his lessons with Harry, the most important of which being that of the memory. If the concentration of the memory was broken, there was no hope for producing a Patronus.

As Draco brought up the memory of the first duelling club, he felt the magic surging through his veins growing stronger and stronger. He closed his eyes, shutting out all of the noise in the room as he concentrated.

Lifting his wand into the air, Draco said, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

A surge of white light blasted from the tip of his wand, forming a silver sphere of magic that hovered in the air. After a moment, the sphere began to take shape, and an arctic fox appeared.

Draco’s face split into a grin, letting out a sigh of relief as he watched his arctic fox leap about the area. The other years had paused to take watch, many of them pointing and smiling at the Patronus.

From across the room, Draco caught Harry’s eyes. His stomach flipped as Harry smiled at him, his eyes bright with happiness as he gave Draco a thumbs up.

“Nice Patronus, Professor!” Harry shouted.

Trying to mask the heat rising to his cheeks, Draco rolled his eyes. “Thank you.”

Neville was also smiling, although he was distracted by the fox, who hadn’t slowed down. It was sprinting through the air, letting out excited barks as it went. Looking at the fox, Draco couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride coming over him.

He’d done it. He’d produced a Patronus.

Draco lowered his wand, and the fox vanished. He turned back to his third years, who were staring at him in awe, and let out a soft, amused laugh.

“Alright, kids. It’s your turn now. I need each of you to think of your happiest memory. It’s okay if the memory you choose doesn’t sit well the first time you try. Many people have to change them in the beginning; I know I did. I’ll let you take three minutes to think of something, and feel free to close your eyes,” Draco said.

As his third years thought of their memories, Draco glanced in Harry’s direction and saw him helping one of his fourth years with the Twitchy-Ears Hex. Although strange to admit, he loved watching Harry teach. There was something so calming about observing Harry do what he was best at, and it inspired Draco to strive for betterness in his own teaching.

After three minutes was up, he began instructing again.

“The wand movement is a spiral, just like so,” Draco said, slowly demonstrating with his own wand, “and the incantation is ‘ _Expecto Patronum_.' On the count of three, I’d like all of you to think of the memory you’ve chosen and then say the spell. Ready?”

A chorus of “yes” erupted, and Draco nodded.

“One, two, three!”

He watched as the third years began, many of them closing their eyes for maximum concentration, just as he had. After a moment, two of his students’ wands shot out small, sporadic sparks. Everyone else eyed them enviously.

“Alright, great first go! Let’s get started for a second round,” Draco said, beaming.

☙☙☙

Saying goodbye to the students had been bittersweet, and Draco knew he was going to miss them over the holidays. However, with only Harry standing in the Room of Requirement after all of the students, as well as Neville, had exited the room, Draco was left with a warm feeling in his chest, and he was reminded of the good things to come.

“You did a great job with your Patronus,” Harry said, clasping Draco’s shoulder.

“Thanks."

“You know,” Harry began, “it makes a lot of sense.”

Draco frowned. “What does?”

“The arctic fox. It suits you.”

“How so?”

Harry cleared his throat as they headed towards the door. “Well, foxes are obviously sly, curious, and clever, and those things fit you to a T. Plus, you spent so many years trying to blend into your surroundings, not drawing attention to yourself. You had no choice but to hide in plain sight.”

Draco let out a huff of nervous laughter. “Psychoanalyzing me, Harry?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Draco.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.”

“Anyway,” Draco said, “I got a letter from Hermione.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. “What’d it say?”

“She said that she and Ron forgive me, and I’d be welcome at The Burrow for Christmas. She also added that she won't hesitate to throw me out if things go south,” Draco said.

“Right. Okay. That seems like progress, and at least we know that you won’t be alone for Christmas,” Harry said grinning.

They continued their walk in momentary silence, which was surprisingly not uncomfortable. The castle was quiet, the only noise being that of the echoes coming from their shoes against the stones. It wasn't until they reached the end of the long corridor that the quiet was broken.

Harry let out a heavy sigh. “Well, I’ll see you in a week, Draco. Have a good night.”

Draco smiled at him. “You too, Harry.”

As he walked back to his living quarters, Draco noticed a funny, fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It lasted all night.


	21. The Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! 
> 
> Since my last update, I've surpassed 300 kudos! Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this, whether you're subscribed or just passing through. The love on Salted Wounds truly means the world to me.
> 
> Speaking of, we've officially hit 30k! Whoo! I'm trying to stretch out the storyline as much as possible, since I'm not ready to give up these versions of our boys or the plot anytime soon. I will warn you all, of course, when we're nearing the end <3
> 
> I hope you all are doing well, and stay safe :)

Having nowhere to go between the time Christmas holidays had begun and Christmas Eve, Draco had no choice but to return to Malfoy Manor. There was a fine layer of dust spread evenly across the few remaining pieces of furniture and family artifacts that sat around the house. For the most part, it was empty, as Draco had promptly decided that it had needed a good clearing out once his mother had been admitted to hospice. However, as he set his trunk down in the grand foyer and looked around, he was met with a tidal wave of solemnity. 

He preferred to not acknowledge why it was that he’d gotten rid of everything, although the reason stuck with him everyday. What had once been his childhood home had quickly turned into a tarnished mess, memories of past happiness within those walls tainted by the invasive remembrance that Voldemort had once inhabited it. Then, when his father had been sentenced to life in Azkaban and his mother had fallen ill, all hope of recovering the lost gaiety had died.

In the two years that had spanned between his mother entering hospice and going to work at Hogwarts, Draco had, in fact, lived a rather lonely life. Each day had become incredibly monotonous, throwing himself into tending to the expansive Malfoy grounds and making sure that the albino peacocks were well taken care of. His mother wouldn’t have wanted the garden to go to waste, and so Draco had clung to the idea that he was doing his mother justice; preserving whatever goodness still existed in the world.

Now, as Draco slowly headed up the sweeping staircase, he couldn’t help but feel as though everything had been for nothing.

_A week,_ Draco thought to himself. _Only a week. Then, you can leave._

With a heavy sigh, Draco trudged to his former bedroom. It looked the same as it always had: light grey walls, a four-poster bed with deep green drapes, a bookshelf stuffed to the brim with books on potion-making, and a large desk.

Draco set his trunk down at the foot of his bed and wandered over to the desk, letting his right index finger glide over the dusty surface. In the left corner sat stacks upon stacks of old correspondences with Pansy, Blaise, Greg, and Theo.

Back when they had cared.

Draco hadn’t spoken to his childhood friends in years. The last time he’d seen them was at Greg and Millicent’s wedding, although the conversations had been forced and awkward, and Draco had wound up leaving early.

Despite the small voice in the back of his mind telling him that it wasn’t a good idea, Draco pulled his desk chair out and took a seat. After a moment of hesitation, he picked up a letter near the top of a stack and placed it on the desk in front of him. Pansy’s neat, loopy cursive was scrawled across the front of the worn envelope in jet black ink, and her trademark doodle of a pansy flower sat on the bottom right hand corner.

Before Draco could change his mind, he opened the envelope and pulled out the letter.

_5th of September 2000_

_Draco,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, darling. I’m sorry for having not written sooner, but you know how it is. People become busy, and time somehow loses meaning. As I’m sure you’ve heard from Blaise, Mother and I have been parading around Paris for the last little while. No one knows who we are here; the Parkinson name hasn’t been polluted. It’s easier._

_How are you, love? Any news? I do hope you’ve finally gotten around to pursuing a potential marriage. You and I both know that the clock is ticking. Perhaps you should come to Paris for a visit. In fact, there’s a witch named Clara that I think you’d like. She’s an absolute catch, Draco: Pureblood, intelligent, fashion savvy, and absolutely breathtaking. Clara broke up with her long-term boyfriend a year ago, and I know that she’s finally ready to move on. I’ll give her your address in case she’s interested. You two would be a perfect match, darling. I can feel it._

_As for me, I’ve yet to find a beau. I’m not fretting, though. There’s a reason they say that Paris is the city of love._

_Write back soon,_

_Pansy xx_

Draco frowned as he stuffed the parchment back into its envelope and set it on one of the stack of letters. That had been one of the last times he’d received word from Pansy. Nothing in particular had happened between them, although Draco often found himself wishing that they’d had a row; he'd at least have something to blame for their falling out. Unfortunately, as with all of his friends, they’d simply grown apart, slowly forgetting about one another until their distance had become set in stone.

Greg had been the hardest person to lose out of the bunch. Draco hadn’t become close friends with Pansy, Blaise, and Theo until the end of third year, but Greg had been there since the beginning. Although he hadn’t been a man of many words, Draco still often thought of Greg and the thousands of conversations they’d had over the years. He’d heard through the grapevine that Greg and Millicent had welcomed a baby girl into the world a year ago, but he wasn’t sure just how true this was. Even so, the idea of Greg being a father was strange and foreign, and Draco was suddenly thinking about how old he was.

In his twenty-five years, he’d never had a steady relationship. Sure, he and Pansy had dated for a month in fourth year, but he hadn’t been able to stand her antics and promptly broke up with her after the Yule Ball. She hadn’t taken it too hard, though, having claimed that Draco desperately needed to improve his kissing skills.

Then, there had been the few strangers he’d managed to have one-night stands with, their exchanges involving messy handjobs and hurried frotting in a dark alleyway behind the Leaky Cauldron when his mother was beginning to decline. However, each witch he’d been with had reliably let him down, the experience never living up to his expectations.

It wasn’t that Draco had wanted to be alone all these years. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He longed for a companion that he could share his life with; none of that Pureblood business, though. He was long done with that. No, he wanted someone who cared for him, made him laugh, and added joy to his life.

Someone who understood.

☙☙☙

Once dinner had been made and consumed, Draco found himself sitting blankly in front of the fireplace in the drawing room. He supposed he could work on grading his students’ Christmas exams, although that admittedly sounded dreadful when he wanted nothing more than to slip into a blissful sleep. As he wracked his brain for something to do, he realized just how lonely the house was. Despite the fact that his mother had grown incredibly quiet over the years, he still missed the sound of her voice from his childhood, echoing around every corner.

He’d give anything to have a conversation with his mother. It had been years since she’d been able to process his words, and even longer since they’d had a proper exchange. Now, whenever Draco visited his mother, he only talked about mundane things, like the weather. Although she’d been in hospice for two years, he still wasn’t sure how to talk enough for the both of them, and the empty air so often felt far too suffocating to say anything at all.

He let out a heavy sigh as he remembered his mother’s last words to him.

_I love you._

Then, it dawned on him what he needed to do.

Standing up, Draco quickly dashed into his father’s study and began rummaging through the desk, hoping to Merlin that he hadn’t thrown out loose parchment, quills, or inkpots during his cleaning spree. Thankfully, he found all three in the bottom drawer and pulled them out, heading back to the drawing room.

There, he opted for sitting on the ground, as the couch was too tall for the coffee table. The fire crackled in front of him, sending glowing sparks into the air as the sheets of rain falling outside came to a gentle lull.

Slowly, Draco dipped his quill in the inkpot and set to work.

_19th December 2005_

_Mother,_

_I do realize that this is ridiculous in every sense of the word, as you’re never going to read it. In all honesty, I’m not quite sure why I feel compelled to write to you in the first place. If I really wanted to, I could’ve popped on over to St. Mungo’s tonight and visited with you. The only conclusion I can come to is that writing provides more anonymity, and although you wouldn’t be conscious if I told all of this to you in person, there would still be people about. So, take this as a final update of sorts ― me letting you know that I’m okay._

_Merlin, this is ludicrous. Well, let’s get on with it._

_I guess I should start by saying that, for the first time in years, I’m genuinely happy. You don’t know this, but I applied to teach at Hogwarts. McGonagall wound up hiring me, and I’m the new Potions professor. I couldn’t possibly love my job more, and I do truly believe that it’s what I was meant to do. Although the kids can be hectic at times, we always manage to have great fun, and there’s certainly never a shortage of amusement. One of my favorite students is a fourth year Gryffindor named Jenny Walker. She’s incredibly bright and diligent, and she seems to really enjoy Potions. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wound up in the field when she’s older. She’d make a brilliant Potions master._

_I should also mention that there have been quite a few surprises thrown my way, the first of which being that Harry Potter was hired to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. I know what you’re thinking ― that this would be madness ― and while things between us were tense in the beginning, we’ve somehow wound up becoming rather good friends. In fact, I’m spending Christmas with him, although more on that later. I don't know, Mother. There's something different about Harry. I feel good whenever I'm around him, no matter what kind of mood I've been in. He simply knows how to make me happy. I suppose it helps that we're no longer at each other's throats. Now, it's all of the banter without the bickering. And, lately, I've been feeling more drawn to him than usual. I've come to hate saying goodbye, even if I know that I'll see him at breakfast the next morning. Even now, I'm missing him, and it's only been a day. It's strange ― this feels different from all of the other friendships I've had, although maybe I'm reading too much into things._

_Anyway, I’ve also become friends with Neville Longbottom, of all people. He became the Herbology professor at Hogwarts right after the war, so he’s been teaching for a while now. Harry and I are the only novices. At the beginning of the school year, Neville explained that he and Harry were starting a duelling club for students interested in Defense, as well as practical and advanced skills. Things got off to a rocky start, as we didn’t have an adequately sized location to hold our meetings, but we eventually figured things out. Mother, I cannot begin to explain the joy I get from running this club. It’s always one of the highlights of my week, and I don’t think I’d be nearly as content without it. Plus, I got to know Harry and Neville through it._

_I’ve been thinking a lot today about partnership and marriage, namely because I foolishly went through an old letter from Pansy. However, the more I think about it, the more I’ve realized that I don’t think I’ve ever been particularly excited about the idea of settling down with a witch. I’m tempted to wonder if I’ve not come across the right one yet, or if there just isn’t someone out there for me to begin with. I don’t know, Mother. One of my Muggle-born students recently taught me about a Muggle concept called karma. It’s a religious belief that the student explained as, “what goes around comes around.” I’m not entirely sure what it means, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it had something to do with my lack of a partnership._

_I suppose it’s also difficult knowing that if I ever do begin seeing anyone, you won’t be there to encourage me along the way. You’ll never meet her, and she’ll never meet you. Then, there’s the marriage aspect. You and father always told me that it was important to marry a girl from a good family, and it’ll be strange not getting approval from either of you, even if it is for the best. It’s also rather depressing to think about the fact that no one from my side of the family would be attending the wedding, should there be one. Everyone is either dead or imprisoned, which doesn’t leave me with a lot of options. I suppose I could always invite Harry, and Neville could come too. Who knows, maybe even Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the freckled clan would be willing to help me fill my side of the aisle. Merlin knows there's enough of them._

_Speaking of, I did say that I would explain the Christmas situation to you. Worry not, I still plan on visiting you on Christmas Eve. However, I won’t be spending the entire holiday wallowing at home this year. Instead, I’ve been invited by Harry to join him and the Weasleys at The Burrow. I’ll be staying there the 24th-27th, and if all goes well, I’m hoping to have a few more friends by the end of it. Unfortunately, I’m overtly aware of the fact that this is nothing but wishful thinking, and I should be grateful that Ron and Hermione are even speaking to me in the first place. I sent them a letter of apology, which seemed to help._

_I miss you, Mother. Terribly. I miss how things used to be before the war, and I want nothing more than to look up and see you smiling as you come down the staircase, book in hand. You were the one good thing in my life for so many years, and it’s been difficult grappling with the fact that you’re dying. As of right now, you’re the only person on this earth who loves me. Oh, I’m sure Father loved me at some point, but it’s pretty clear that I haven’t grown up to be the son he’d wanted. As for my friends, well … you and I both know how that ended. I know it’s silly, but I feel like I’ll be forgotten in some ways once you die._

_I will say, though, that knowing you’re suffering in your current state is the only solace I can find in you passing. At least I won’t have to worry about you anymore._

_The last words you ever spoke to me were “I love you.” It’s time for me to say it back._

_Thank you for being such an incredible mother. I couldn’t have asked for a kinder, gentler soul to raise me. And although I disagree with everything you and father instilled in me, I can’t deny that I felt loved growing up. That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?_

_Thank you for saving Harry during the battle. I hope you know that the world wouldn’t be nearly as beautiful as it is today without you, and I’m so proud of you for going against everything you believed in, if only for a moment, to check on me._

_I love you, Mother ― to the moon and back._

_Draco_


	22. Christmas Eve Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, folks! I'm sorry this is a week late. My wife and I unexpectedly adopted a dog last week (on the day I was supposed to write and upload), and I haven't had time since then. Now that our pup is settling down, I should be back on schedule! 
> 
> On that same note, I told my wife about when I'm planning for Harry and Draco to get together, and she yelled at me that I'm making this too slow 😂 So, the slow burn continues!

One week later found Draco standing on the front porch of The Burrow, debating heavily whether he should knock or simply head back to Hogwarts. He let out a heavy huff of warm air, his breath exploding into a dense fog as he anxiously glanced behind to make sure that there were no stray Weasleys spying on him. The Weasleys’ property stretched farther than he had imagined, only stopping when the earth began turning into vast fields of freshly planted wheat in the distance. And, although Draco had expected a small, plain looking house, he had discovered that it was anything but. The Burrow was a tall, crooked house that stretched clear into the dense, low hanging fog bank. Several oddly shaped levels sat stacked on top of one another, equaling what he counted to be six floors, and it had appeared to have been built with various non-coordinating types of wood. Draco instinctively felt the need to hate it.

But he didn’t.

There was an easy charm about The Burrow, as though it had been made to welcome in family and strangers alike. Thick plumes of smoke were billowing out of the narrow chimney, carrying the scent of burnt logs and fresh pine with it. And while the outside world was silent, fresh snow falling gently to the ground, loud sounds of conversation and laughter could be heard coming from inside the walls.

Draco stood there for several more minutes, shaking in his suede oxfords from a combination of both fear and the cold, before footsteps interrupted his mental turmoil. Glancing back, his heart sped up.

Harry was approaching him with an easy smile. He was dressed far more casually than Draco, clad in denim jeans, a deep red jumper with a golden “H” on it, and a large, puffy jacket. Trailing behind him were stacks of presents and sweets levitating in the bitterly cold air.

“Hey, Draco,” Harry said, climbing up the three steps that led to the front porch. “How are you?”

“Alright,” Draco shrugged, although he couldn’t help but return the smile that Harry was offering him. “You?”

“Good! I’m excited to get inside. I can practically _taste_ Molly’s gingerbread biscuits from here,” Harry said.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Gingerbread biscuits?”

Harry nodded. “The best. She makes them every year, although the family rule is that no one’s allowed to eat any of them until Christmas Day. Anyway, come on in.”

Before Draco could hesitate, Harry grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, pushing the door open. Golden light from the hallway spilled onto the porch, and Draco could hear the faintest sound of Christmas music behind various voices talking over one another.

Harry stepped over the threshold, his presents and sweets following closely. Draco walked behind, shutting the front door after him. Once they’d both hung up their coats on the rack next to the door, Harry led Draco through the hallway and into the living room. Draco stopped in his tracks, pausing as he looked around.

It was unlike anything he’d ever seen.

Although The Burrow certainly didn’t hold the same grandness of the Great Hall during the Christmas season, there was something even more enchanting about it. On the opposite wall stood a worn brick fireplace, and inside sat a spirited fire crackling with life. In the left corner of the room was an enormous pine tree, its top branches brushing the ceiling. The baubles hanging from the tree looked different to those Draco had grown up with; instead of shiny, glass spheres that were different shades of silver and green, these baubles sparkled and shined in every possible color. Several ornaments held moving photographs of the Weasley siblings as children, and others in the shapes of Snitches, brooms, and dragons zoomed around the branches with lightning speed. The more Draco looked, the more he realized that each ornament meant something special in itself, rather than simply existing for aesthetic appeal. Every person, including Harry, the grandchildren, and the children-in-law, had their own ornament with the year of their birth sparkling in golden paint.

Stacks of presents sat underneath the Christmas tree, and Draco was surprised to see that his name was written in neat handwriting across two of them. He felt a flush of embarrassment as he fondled the wrapped presents he’d shrunken in his trouser pockets, wondering if they would suffice.

It wasn’t until he looked up from the presents that he noticed the large amount of redheads, adults and children alike, lounging about the room. He immediately recognized Ginny, who was curled up on the couch next to Luna Lovegood. On the other side of Ginny sat George and Angelina, and their two children, a boy and a girl, were settled on their laps. To the left of the couch was a frumpy loveseat, which was occupied by one of the older brothers and the champion from Beauxbatons ― Fleur Delacour ― which Draco found to be incredibly curious. He could remember hearing vague rumors about the marriage between Fleur and … _Charlie, was it?_ Draco silently wondered to himself. _Or Bill?_ In Fleur’s arms was a tightly swaddled baby, no more than six months old, and by her feet were two small girls. The younger of the two had bright red hair and trademark Weasley freckles, whereas the older one looked much more like a miniature version of Fleur. Ron, who was also occupied with a newborn in his arms, was sitting on a wooden chair that had been pulled up to the circle of family, and on the floor next to him was a toddler whose corkscrew curls, large eyes, and golden brown skin were the spitting image of Hermione.

As Draco glanced around the room, taking in the rambunctious laughter and bright smiles, he could feel his own body go rigid with fear. He couldn’t remember ever feeling as out of place as he did just then, standing in front of a sea of people who probably wanted nothing to do with him.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by Ginny, who leapt out of her seat and came racing towards Harry, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Harry!” she said, grinning as she pulled back from the hug. “How are you?”

“Good! Hey, congrats on your big win against the Magpies!” Harry said.

“Thanks,” Ginny beamed. “Why don’t you drop the presents off under the tree? Mum’s in the kitchen, and I know she’s dying to see you.”

“Sounds good.”

An awkward silence fell over the room as the crowd slowly realized that Harry wasn’t alone. Draco could feel stares boring into him from every angle, and he looked intently at the floor to avoid any further uncomfortableness.

“Malfoy.”

Holding his breath, Draco glanced upwards. Ron had gotten up from his seat and was now directly in front of him, his bright eyes slightly narrowed as he bounced the baby in his arms.

“Hello,” Draco said meekly.

“It’s … good to see you,” Ron said slowly, looking him up and down. “How’ve you been?”

Draco swallowed thickly. “Fine, thanks. And you?”

“Good, good. Well … thanks for coming. Let me introduce you to everyone. This,” Ron began, pointing to the man sitting next to Fleur, “is my oldest brother, Bill, and his wife, Fleur, who I’m sure you remember. These are their kids, Victoire, Dominique, and little Louis …”

As Ron proceeded to introduce everyone, Draco managed to offer up polite hellos and small waves, diligently making sure to not overstep or talk out of place. Although the smiles he’d gotten in return hadn’t necessarily met anyone’s eyes, he was beginning to relax a little. So far, no one had punched him or demanded that he leave, and he took that as a good sign.

Once Harry had placed his presents under the tree and distributed the sweets he'd brought with him around the room, he led Draco in the direction of the kitchen. The warm smell of freshly baked rolls filled the hallway, and Draco realized just how hungry he was, having skipped breakfast and lunch due to the huge, twisted knot that had made home in the pit of his stomach earlier that morning.

As they turned the corner, Draco let out a soft breath. The kitchen perfectly matched the rest of the house: unorganized, a little crooked, chaotic, and utterly perfect. Levitating pans and dishes were flying about the room, occasionally bumping into each other and creating a symphonic clang. A large pot of water sat on the stove, boiling bubbles threatening to spill over any minute, and steam was spilling out from cracks in the oven. Hermione stood in the corner, looking largely the same as she had eight years ago, and was furiously chopping celery, carrots, and white onions. Beside her was Molly Weasley, whose short, wavy hair had gone entirely white, and she seemed to be completely engrossed in making some kind of marinade. A man, who must have been Charlie, was standing next to the sink. Draco watched, entranced, as Charlie organized various stacks of dirty dishes running across the length of the counter with a simple wave of his hand. Several dishes began soaring into the sink, sending a wave of suds and water into the air.

Harry cleared his throat, and all three of them turned around.

“Harry, dear!” Molly shouted, setting down a bottle of olive oil before embracing Harry.

“How are you, Molly?” Harry asked, laughing at her enthusiasm.

Molly broke away from the hug and pinched one of Harry’s cheeks. “Lovely, dear ― so good to see you, although it hardly looks as though you’ve been eating enough. Hermione, doesn’t Harry look a bit peaky?”

Draco held back a snort, knowing fully well that Harry got more than enough to eat while at Hogwarts. Halfway through dinner, Harry could more often than not be found going back for seconds. Draco hardly blamed him; the House-elves certainly knew how to cook.

Hermione put down the knife she’d been chopping with and wandered over, a broad smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around Harry.

“Hi, Harry,” she said, briefly kissing him on the cheek before turning her attention to Draco.

“Hello, Hermione,” Draco said, cautiously meeting her eyes.

“Draco,” she said, acknowledging him with a slight nod, “I’m glad to see you. How’ve you been?”

“Alright. How are you? Ron mentioned that Hugo’s only two months old,” Draco said.

Hermione let out a soft, dry laugh. “Yes, well … he’s a handful, and we're managing. How’s Hogwarts been treating you?”

Just as Draco was about to respond, Charlie cleared his throat. Draco looked up, blanching as soon as he realized that Charlie’s expression was determinately unreadable.

“So … Ron wasn’t messing when he said a Malfoy was coming for Christmas,” he said, taking a few steps forward. “You look different than I imagined … Nicer, maybe?”

Draco let out a nervous huff of laughter. “Thanks, I think.”

A warm smile spread across Charlie’s face, and he clapped Draco on the back. “Sure thing. I'm Charlie. Hey, did you know that your name means dragon in Latin?”

“Oddly enough, yes,” Draco said, smirking. “You work with dragons, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, beaming. “I live in Romania, so I’m just home for Christmas. If you’re ever in the area, let me know. I’m always begging Harry to come visit me again.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him, Draco. He’ll somehow talk you into dragon riding lessons, and the inner-thigh chafing is _not_ worth it.”

“Oi, Harry!” Charlie shouted, playfully shoving his shoulder. “I swear, you’re going to ruin the sanctuary’s tourism revenue.”

“ _Boys_ ,” Molly sighed, waving an oven mitt clad hand in the air, “would you please consider continuing this conversation another time? We’ve got people to feed! Stomachs to fill! Draco, dear, why don’t you help Hermione with the chopping? And Harry, darling, make sure that Charlie doesn’t break any more dishes. We’ve already lost two to his wandless magic this evening.”

As Draco wandered over to the chopping board with Hermione, who handed him a spare knife, he felt oddly at piece ― more so than he ever had during a Christmas celebration at the Manor. There, things had always been done by the House-elves, and Draco had been expected to be seen but not heard when around adults. Here, though … here seemed different. Here seemed effortless.

Looking back over his shoulder, Draco caught Harry’s eye. They grinned at one another, and Draco felt a burst of warmth spread to the tips of his fingers. Harry looked the same as he always did ― messy hair, easy smile, small crinkles around the corners of his bright eyes ― and yet there was something special about the moment.

Draco wished he could capture it with a thousand photographs.


End file.
